


Blue

by Tiz



Series: Colour of Roses [4]
Category: Farseer Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Liveship Traders Trilogy - Robin Hobb, Tawny Man Trilogy - Robin Hobb
Genre: Action, Angst, FIx It, Fantasy, Gen, Implied Off Stage Rape/Non Con, Intrigue, M/M, Plot-Driven, Plotty, Post canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-04 17:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 24
Words: 98,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1083790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiz/pseuds/Tiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Blue Rose blooms,<br/>Past and Future'll dance again<br/>They'll sing their ancient song<br/>As the World hangs on a chain</p><p>When the Blue Rose blooms,<br/>and the impossible had been<br/>Can we all be one as whole<br/>When the tie again binds?</p><p>(Fragment of "When the Roses Bloom" by FitzChivalry Farseer)</p><p>[The world of the Realms of the Elderlings belongs to Robin Hobb and to the rightful owners of the rights. No money for me here. :)]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Ocean

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andromeda-Aires](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Andromeda-Aires).



> Thanks to Katie and Impoeia, my betas! :) Yes I have a new one!^__^
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u
> 
>  
> 
> So, Blue begins! I have noticed chapters tend to be longer here. Some really longer. I hope you'll like it, I am having a lot of fun writing it! Things will truly heaten up from the end of Black onward...

** First Chapter: Ocean **

 

_It may came as a surprise for the few people outside Clerres who have any knowledge of the land, but the return of White Beloved was not met with the astonishment and resistance one would expect._

_For someone even less familiar with the White Land, the idea that a Prophet may be welcome with anything less than cheers may seem strange. Yet there were several reasons, deriving both from the history of the country and from White Beloved himself, to expect so strong an opposition. Prophets who left Clerres so seldom returned that the event was unheard from to was unheard of by all but the most knowledgeable White Monks. White Beloved had also left so many years before, and had been so isolated even when living in Behit, that very few living souls retained any memory of him. Furthermore, he was not white. By the time he came to Behit, decades after he left as a child, his skin, hair and eyes were of a deep, rich bronze hue,; the same colour he is now. Clerres had forgotten the time when most, if not all, Prophets gained colours as they aged. There were other, subtler signs of his parentage that the White Monks may well have recognized, but colour, or rather the lack of it, was the prime requisite of a White Prophet. And White Beloved was not white._

_It is possible that he met resistance at first, in Behit, though I have heard nothing of it. This may well be the reason why Prilkop did not attempt to claim the same title, as well. A not-White Prophet was difficult enough to swallow. Two would be far beyond conceivable. So Prilkop didn't present himself as anything but an advisor of White Beloved, from a far-away land._

_But Clerres needed a Prophet, for trouble was brewing in Liantharin. The same moon that shone upon White Beloved as he walked through the White Temple as White Prophet, saw the Shining Empress Hui-Jia give birth to a son. And she had no younger sisters, nor surviving aunts to take the role of Shining Empress. Any Prophet, even a not-White one, would do to pass a decision on the fate of the most powerful land of Clerres, for no mere Prior could very well expect to be heeded by the Liantharinan's Royal Family. So, when the White Diet was called, Prior Gombochab recognized White Beloved as the White Prophet of that age, and so did all the rulers of the countries that make up Clerres, including Emperor Cong on behalf of Liantharin._

_White Beloved's ruling is well known. It was also the traditional one, already having been used in similar circumstance in Liantharin and elsewhere, for it was not the first time in the long history of Clerres that a royal house was left with no suitable heirs. It could well be that, having already managed to break traditions by getting the rulers of Clerres and the White Monks to recognize a not-white White Prophet, he didn't think it wise to attempt a more daring verdict._

_As it was, all that the decision did was buy Liantharin time. The civil war was forestalled, but not averted. It erupted sixteen years later, when Kuan decided to call himself Emperor and his wife Shining Empress. It is doubtful whether another decree would have been able to avoid the war's outbreak. However, Kuan's actions do show how, behind the veneer of acceptance, resentment about the "Colourful White", as White Beloved is disparagingly known, still boils in Clerres._

_What I have always found amusing in the whole tale is how the fate and the very existence of she who had once been acclaimed as the White Prophet of this age was utterly cancelled. About the White who, in the Six Duchies and the Outisland, went by the name of "Pale Woman" and of whom no no trace is left and even her true name is, to this day, forevermore lost._

_I can't see this as a great loss._

 

 

Colours moved around. Spots danced, lights and shadows. They were interesting, and I kept watching them, enthralled. Light became green as it passed through a leaf. I reflexively reached with my hand to grasp the light, but it flowed between my fingers. The flesh went from tan to greenish. I watched it with curiosity and did it again, to see if it would happen once more. It did. The leaf was alive, flimsy threads of life extending from it and from the tree to me. Not as alive as the other leaves, though. But light was not alive, yet it gave life. My mind dwelled on it, pondering for a second, but a sound distracted me. I turned my body to hear better.

Colours and shapes were moving and making sounds as they did. Several forms existed, some moving, some immobile, all around me. Some were not alive. Some were. I smiled with happiness at the bonds I felt between myself and them. Two shapes moved toward me. Those two forms were alive, too. Like the tree. But they moved and the tree didn't. And they were by far more connected to me than the tree was. The smallest one came to me. I smiled looking at it. It was almost purely white, save for some parts that were red or black or blue. I extended my hand again, as I had done toward the greenish light, but this time I met a rough and satisfying sensation, like many small threads rubbing up against my palm. A different, light brown shape moved among the white as I felt the almost-white form. I watched it, too. The white form felt like care and love and friendship. I tried to get closer to it. I closed my eyes and it was dark, but I could still feel the sensation under my palm. I went closer to the white shape. The rough thread were on my cheek now, too. It was still pleasant. The air smelled of the clean scent I already associated with the white figure , but also of a pungent smell I couldn't identify.

I frowned. The smell had not always been there. But it was not the first time I'd smelt it. I sniffed the air and raised my head to scent it better. Something nagged at me, like a buzzing insect trapped inside my skull. I knew the smell. It meant something. Not food though. I shook my head to clear the buzzing insect away. The white shape moved some more and a warm wet sensation blossomed on my cheek. I smiled at that, too.

The other shape had remained immobile. It had more colours than the one in my arms now. First it was a rich auburn, but it was also cream-coloured and there were smaller shapes etched in the cream: ebbs and lines. I followed them with my eyes. They were pleasing, as the veins of the leaf had been pleasing. The figure stood still against the sky. The sky had been blue before, but now it was changing into a symphony of amber hues and fiery reds. The auburn form looked well beneath that canopy. It satisfied me, to the point that when it moved I made a distressed noise. The colourful shape stopped in its tracks for a second, then resumed moving. It blocked all the light, casting me in shadow, but I was not disappointed. I liked it, when it came closer to me. I could feel it better. It was different and only faintly there, a connection unlike the one I shared with the white shape, or the tree, or the other forms that populated the world, alive or not. I half-closed my eyes to feel better and smiled. The shape made itself smaller and reached with a part of itself. I felt something touching my shoulder and turned my head to watch the hand on it. The colourful shape tugged and made noises. I liked the sounds it made. They were fine and soft. I knew what the tugging meant. I stood up and followed it, the white form at my heels.

The pervasive scent titillated my nose again. I inhaled deeply. A sound accompanied the noise, rhythmic and constant. Something whispered at the edge of my hearing. I blinked. I followed the colourful shape inside a place. I knew it was inside. It was darker, made of stone and wood. I liked the feeling of both under my fingers. It had a gay and lively light closed beyond a gate. I watched it and blinked. It was not always so. I dimly remembered touching it, and my fingers twitched. There had been pain when I had tried to touch the dancing, warm light, and the light had been put beyond the gate. That I recalled.

The colourful shape went to the light and did something. I did not know what. I did not care. I stood still and watched and felt and smelled everything. The white form went and retrieved a ball. It was beautiful, made of some shiny material with patterns and lacquer. I remembered a tiny figure coming with it. It screamed a lot. Then it went away. The white form moved the ball around, chasing it and making sounds. I smiled. The gay light reflected off of the ball and over the walls, creating shadows and reflections over them. I watched. The ball stopped at the feet of the colourful shape. It bent down and picked it up. Then it threw the ball into the air and caught it in one fluid movement. 

Something rang in my skull, a feeling like an explosion inside my head. I blinked. I looked at him doing the same thing, again and again. Memories surfaced lazily; images of a white child throwing up balls and rods and even knives once, with the same grace and elegance.

Juggling.

I blinked again. Without my conscious will, my mouth and lips moved. I moved them once or twice. They formed a word.

"Fool."

He let the ball fall, startled. He looked at me with huge, dark eyes, almost black in the faint light of the house. I looked back at him. He gulped and slowly took the ball again. He passed it fast between his hands and over his head. I smiled. "Fool," I repeated. He. The Fool. Him. I nodded seriously, delighted at that discovery. He made a chocked sound and stopped the ball, holding it with both hands. Then he breathed out. "Yes, Fitz. Yes. The Fool. That is me." His words were no more than a whisper. Fitz. If the Fool was him, then that was me, wasn’t it?

Me. I.

I put my hands to my temples and pressed, squeezing my eyes shut at the same time. Confusion overwhelmed me. But there was a him, so there was a me as well. There had to be. The idea made my head spin. I frowned. It was not Fitz. It was something else. I grap grappled with it, almost trashing my head to find what was right. The Fool walked toward me and put his hand on my shoulder. He guided me to a bench. I followed him like a colt follows his dam. I sat. My breathing was laboured as I tried to make sense of what I had just discovered. I could feel him sitting next to me. There was an I. But it was not Fitz. Fitz was… not wrong. But not right from him. But I did not know what was right.

I looked blankly at the white form. I blinked and the form was not just a white shape with a number of features. It was Snowcloud. Snowcloud. I knew of her. I shuddered and gasped. I could feel something in the back of myself shivering and whispering. Something like the connection I had felt toward her when I perceived her only as a different shape among other. I reached with my hand toward her throat. "Snowcloud," I whispered aloud. She raised her head. Her blue eyes met mine.

_Brother mine! You are here!_

She barked with joy and jumped at me. I was too lightheaded and dizzy to stop her friendly assault. She washed my face with her tongue. I tried to keep her at bay, to no avail. Yes. This was right. I was Snowcloud's brother. I could feel our bond now. I smiled at her and wearily scratched her throat.

"Fitz?" he said again, softly. I I raised my head wearily to meet his dark eyes. The joy I saw there surprised me. He seemed as happy as Snowcloud felt. I blinked. Why was he happy when I was so confused? "No," I said, frustrated. He blinked and regarded me. The joy dimmed in his gaze. It pained me for reasons I could not name. "It is not Fitz. You are the Fool."

He kept looking at me like he didn't understand. The light of the fire danced over his high cheekbones and tall forehead, giving golden hues to his hair and his rich bronze skin. It was important that he understood. I tried again. My voice felt creaky and rough.

"If you are the Fool, who am I?"

He looked at me, speechless. I knew this was a rare occasion indeed, but could not remember how I knew it.

Snowcloud barked. _The Scentless One is not as quick as I am, brother mine. Give him time. And give it to yourself as well._

I frowned. I did not understand why the Fool should be less quick than Snowcloud was. He was there, with us. I looked at him pleadingly.

He took a deep breath. His elegant hand clenched and unclenched. Then an expression of determination crossed his fine features. "Beloved?" His voice was soft and tentative. His eyes looked huge in the dim light. A smile broke over my lips and I breathed out and nodded. I looked squarely at the creature in front of me, all rich bronze and elegant lines. But he was whole. One.

"You are Keppet.," I said, seriously. I was elated. Of course he was Keppet. As I was Beloved. How could I have forgotten it? I raised my hand to touch his cheek. The dark skin was cool and silken under my rough fingers. "Keppet, Dhil'amin.," I repeated, caressing his cheekbone with my thumb. A cloud of confusion passed over his features, but I didn't mind.

Then the rush of joy abated and my head swam again. Suddenly I was very, very tired. I shook my head, to clear away the exhaustion. "I am tired, Keppet.," I told him, marveling at how we could communicate with voices. I did not communicate through voices with Snowcloud. Perhaps I could communicate in that way with him, too. I tested the bond with the Fool, but found it too faint still to convey words and feelings. My Keppet was so strange, so different from everybody else, than the bond still didn't show. But I remember the glimpses of him I had caught already and I could wait. I left it alone happily. It would grow, with time, like a seed growing into a tree. He regarded me and frowned, perhaps sensing my touching of our bond. I smiled wearily at him and scratched Snowcloud's throat.

"Go to sleep, Beloved." His suggestion was gentle. I nodded. I rose to my feet and staggered a little. He rose as well and steadied me with his arms around my waist. I went, to sleep on the bed. There were two beds; one big, one small, both in a corner of the big room that made-up the whole house. I sat on my side of the big bed and looked at the colourful rug at my feet. Snowcloud slept there. I dimly recalled sleeping curled up around her. I turned my head toward the bed. I remembered sleeping there, too. Curled up around him. I tried to think. Thinking was important. All of a sudden I felt fear. What if I forgot myself again? My fingers contracted over my knees. I was tired. I wanted to lay down and sleep. But what if I woke without remembering who I was? Fitz. Brother of Snowcloud. The Fool's Beloved. I chanted those names inside my head, afraid I would forget them if I stopped.

_Don't be afraid, brother mine. I am here. The Scentless One is here. You have recalled yourself. All will be well._

Snowcloud's soothing presence assuaged my dread. I nodded at her and took off my sandals. As soon as my head touched the pillow, I was asleep.

 

The day after, I woke early. Even before opening them I hastily remind myself of who I was. Fitz. Snowcloud's brother. The Fool's Beloved. It was like a chant in my head; like a child soothing himself with a lullaby. I breathed out and relaxed on the bed. My stomach rumbled. I was hungry. I knew Snowcloud and the Fool still slept; the first on the rug, the second with his head between my shoulder blades. I could feel his arm around my waist and his breath on my back. It must have been very early indeed, for both of them to still be asleep.

I tried to move without waking up the Fool. For all my care, I did not succeed. Before I could even sit up, he had opened his eyes and was looking at me with what I knew, even in the almost complete absence of light, to be worry. Why was he worried? I frowned.

"Keppet? I am hungry."

He breathed out, smiled and gave a short laugh. A strong emotion swelled in me at the sound. I smiled back and he blinked. Perhaps he was starting to feel it, I thought gladly. He stood up and went to the hearth. The embers had cooled during the night and he knelt nimbly to rekindle the fire. The window was open and the breeze came inside. I breathed in, this time recognizing the scent. Salt. The rhythmic sound was the ocean. I blinked. The sky outside was still dark.

"You didn't eat yesterday. And you are still too thin for my taste. You are all bones." The Fool's voice was musical with mockery.

"Do you want to eat me?" I retorted before I could think about it. He startled and looked at me, still kneeling. Then he laughed freely and, without knowing why, I joined him.

_Don't let me sleep, brother mine. Good. Really. Don't you know I need my beauty sleep?_

At Snowcloud's words, I laughed even more. Then I let my eyes rest between the two of them and smiled. I had my pack, my people. What else could I ask for?

 

Self came back to me.

It is said that there is a magic in names, that knowing the name of something is having power over it. This may well be true, though if it is, it is not a magic I possess. But it is true that by naming things we learn about them and, even more so, we learn of learn about us. By giving names to what surrounded me, I identified myself as apart from them. I existed again. Things were no longer only shapes and colours and sounds, but took on names of their own. Table. Bed. House. Rock. Tree.

In the following days I recalled their names, and their places. I went fishing and hunting, both with the Fool and with Snowcloud.

The house we resided in was made of wooden planks inserted in a cliff's nook. The room we inhabited had no more than a table with a bench, the two beds, the rug and the fireplace. The planks were carved with images of birds and bamboo. Over the table hung carving tools and ancient-looking scrolls he often poured over. There was a door that led somewhere, but it was private for the Fool, and I knew I shouldn't go there. When I thought of the house, it seemed somewhat strange. Yet I couldn't summon up what type of dwelling would have looked familiar, or why the house seemed odd beside.

The cliff sloped gently down towards a small, sandy beach. The water was shallow and n clear by the beach, but deep and dark at the bottom of the cliff. Behind the beach, there was a luscious jungle. A small stream of fresh water went water flowed from the jungle to to the ocean. The brackish water was cooler close to the brook.

The beach and cliff were the home of many different fishes. Crabs and mussels lived aplenty in the rocky cliff. The jungle strip I ventured into was teeming with game and wild fruits and vegetables. I saw no one else, and cared to see no one else either. The weather was mild, the food plentiful. I hunted with Snowcloud and went swimming with the Fool, watching with a mixture of awe and anxiousness at his increasingly daring dives from the precipice. He never hurt himself. He took to the habit of scaring me half to death, climbing up high to dive and waiting underwater while I fretted with worry, before resurfacing to laugh at me. My subsequent attempts to drown him myself were always unsuccessful. Snowcloud would sometimes play with us and she was only a little less reckless than the Fool himself in her diving and splashing. Those were good times.

In the evening we would share food and then I would sleep on the rug with Snowcloud or on the bed with the Fool. I tired easily. Often I would lie down in the middle of the day and watch his hands moving over some carving, or his auburn head bowed over the scrolls, till I feel asleep.

One day at sunset I was trotting back with my arms full of fresh mangoes and a small serow tied to my belt. Snowcloud walked beside me, proud and happy with the day's hunt. The evening smelled good, the luscious scent of the flowers mingling with the salty one of the ocean. Life buzzed all around us and we gloried in it and in our belonging to it. Perhaps we were distracted, for we were almost at the foot of the path that lead to the house before she cocked her head and I stopped in my tracks.

Somebody else was here. Somebody that I should know. A name, and a face. But they were nebulous, like a painting smeared with water. I shivered. I felt cold. Icy fear crept into my veins, freezing me from the inside out. The fire was lit inside the house and its window shed a pleasant light in the dark.

Snowcloud looked at me, her white head cocked. I raised my shields and stored the fruits and our kill at the foot of the cliff and crept up, silently. To this day I can't tell you why I did it. Snowcloud followed me without a word.

"… He is better. He has remembered me and, more importantly, he has remembered himself."

This voice I knew well. The Fool. I waited at the door for the second one to answer, shivering.

"But nothing about Vietmar, or Clerres? Has he mentioned anything at all about it?" This voice was soft, almost feminine. I gulped. My mouth was parched. 

I felt, more than heard, a heavy sigh. "No. Nothing. Not even about Chyne, or Fizek. Or Chien." I blinked. Chien. Chyne. Fizek. The first name rang something in my mind. The memory of the ball and the small form surfaced. The others too evoked stirrings in me. I did not want to think of them. The sun had set beyond the horizon and I was even colder. I hugged myself, trying to keep warm.

"No, and the Prince was too upset from the last time to try to bring him here again. Chyne and Fizek are too busy during this 'ailment' of the King to come. We won't be able to keep the nobles at bay forever. It has been more than a whole moon. Almost two. Sooner or later, they will want to see King Chihn, Prophet."

King Chihn. Prophet.

Something turned over and hurt inside me, so that for a moment I couldn’t catch my breath. I tried to think of what it was, but it ran away from me. I didn’t want to catch up with it, but I knew it was a thing I should hunt. It would be like hunting a tiger. When I got up close to it, it would turn on me and try to hurt me. But something about it made me want to follow anyway. I took a deep breath and shuddered. I drew in another, with a sound that caught in my throat.

_Brother? What ails you? Brother!_

I fled. I turned my back on the plank door and ran down the path, Snowcloud at my side. When I was at the bottom of the cliff, the door opened with a crash.

"Fitz? Fitz, come back!"

I didn't heed him. I ran into the Jungle, letting the feeling of life surround me. I didn't want to think. I didn't want to remember. I ran till I couldn't run anymore, and then I fell to my hands and knees and gulped down air in great, haggard breaths. Snowcloud whined and licked my cheek.

_Brother mine. Brother mine._

She had no answer, nothing save her love for me to give. For a moment, I recalled another companion, one who would have offered me the simpler life of a beast. But that time had passed and so did the fleeting shadow of a wolf. I hugged Snowcloud and waited for the fear to leave me. I didn't know why I was afraid, but does fears have to be taught? A fledging bird will freeze in front of a hunting cat, even if it knows nothing of the cat's sharp claws and fangs. I didn't know what I feared, only that I did.

It was midmorning before I went back to the house. The Fool was inside. As soon as I entered, I knew he had not slept. He leapt to his feet and watched me. He breathed out a ragged breath when he saw me unharmed. I looked at my feet wordlessly, my shoulders tense. I felt a twinge of pain and I massaged my left shoulder. I turned my head and noticed for the first time the regular scars on it. A bite scar.

The Fool kept looking at me in silence from the centre of the room. I raised my eyes and met his.

"I don't want to be King Chihn. I don't want you to be the Prophet.," I burst out. He sighed and his shoulders hunched.

"I can't say I like it either. But we will have to take up those roles again, as little as we care of them," he said quietly. I could feel his sincerity.

Suddenly I had one of the rare, swift glimpses of him. It was like a ray of sun hitting a fresh waterfall at the right moment and place to create a rainbow. I could truly feel him, complete and magical and beautiful. He was nothing like me. He didn't feel like I did. My feelings were like running waters, at time muddy or flowing in a haphazard fashion, but his were like crystals. Clear and transparent and defined. He felt like nothing else in my Wit. Then the moment passed, leaving my skin tingling and my heart beating fast.

"Now?" I queried quietly.

He shook his head and smiled crookedly. "No. Not now. Rest now. Rest and heal. And close the door. There is some soup ready." I nodded and went inside. As I ate, Snowcloud lay at my feet, gnawing a serow's bone.

_You ran from pack, brother mine. Why? Not that I mind running with you. But I don't understand._

I stopped with the spoon halfway to my mouth. She was right. I had run from the Fool. I looked at him. He was kneeling by the fireplace, taking away the pot that had held the soup to wash it. He was dressed in a fair tunic, with ankle-long jerkins and he was barefoot. The clothes were plain and clean-cut, with simple and pleasant embroidery on the hems and cuffs. His sleek hair flowed to the middle of his back, bound by a simple ribbon, cream against bronze. Every line of his body was as familiar to me as my own. He was as much a part of myself as I was. As much as Snowcloud was of me. Yet, I had run from him, as I would never run from Snowcloud.

_I… do not know, sister mine. I do not know._ I hesitated. _I don't like it,_ I added miserably. Snowcloud looked up at me and cocked her head, her low-tipped ears pointed toward me. She whined at my feelings. I peeled myself away from her, not wishing to give her pain.

I looked at the soup. Meat and vegetable and noodles. All of a sudden, the smell didn't seem so appetizing anymore. I felt nauseous and left the spoon beside my bowl.

All I knew was that I was not hungry anymore.


	2. Sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS NOT BETA-ED.
> 
> So all mistakes are mine. So, so sorry. I'll really try to make sure this don't happen anymore :S
> 
> Thanks to Rivana and Noam for their comments! <3  
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u

** Chapter Second: Sky **

 

 

_There are several type of magic in the World. Some seems inborn in a lineage or parentage, like the ability of the White to perceive and steer the futures. Other seems to be more about learning, as the Iduyans' charms or the aptitude to see other places inside a pool of water that my father told me exists in the far-away land he came from. Some people are proficient in more than one magic, but most people have none._

_Yet not two magics are as interwove as the Skill and the Wit are. This not only because people with both aren't rare, but even because my studies on the Siòng._

_It would be useful to remember the differences betwixt Skill and Wit. The Skill can be used to communicate with people, more easily if they too have at least a sparkle of the ability, and the Wit can't. The Skill is addictive, and the use of it is known to turn people into simpleton, robbing them of any ability of thought and feeling, while the Wit isn't. The Wit can be used to perceive the whole of life, and the Skill can't, its use being limited to higher form of intelligence. Both the Skill and the Wit can be used to created bonds, but Wit-bonds joins always two creatures, one of which is not human, and it is a preferential bond, while Skill-links are more prosaic and less elective. Truly, there are many differences between the two magics. Yet people who have both often, indeed always if not trained, use both at once, in a contamination that simple doesn't happen to other known magics. Still, those people can be taught to divide their ability and use them independently from one other._

_At a first glance, the Khams' Siòng is but a stronger form of Wit. However in my studies of the Khams I have noticed that they do use Skill-like abilities. Khams can and do communicate mentally among humans, even if only between humans of the same "people". Khams can and do suffer from a sort of "Siòng-addiction" in certain case indulging in it in a ritual fashion. What is more, their description of how the Siòng "feels", as incomplete and misleading as such accounts are, is remarkably similar to the description of the Skill. None of those things happen to purely Witted people. Also, differently from other persons who have both Skill and Wit, like my King, the Khams are not able to learn how to divide the two magics and use them independently, even with efforts._

_All of this had led me to believe that the Siòng is neither a stronger form of the Wit nor a bastardize version of the Skill. Rather it is an ancestral version of both the Skill and the Wit, before the magics split in their current forms._

_It is worth mentioning that King Chihn doesn't agree with my assessment, and believes that the Siòng is just a strong Wit._

 

_Excerpt from "The Skill and the Wit" by Skillmaster Fallstar Doi Chyne_

 

 

That night, the dreams began.

They were of a motley sort. I dreamt of hunting in the snow, following a deer with a companion that was not Snowcloud, free and happy in the wild joy of the hunt. Of a small cottage, with papers and inks and a young boy bursting from the main door holding a rabbit for me to see. Of a big stable in a castle, helping a mare give birth and smiling at the gangly colt rising on his feet to reach for the milk. Those were good dreams.

But others were not so sweet. Dreams of a trembling light, a dancing light on a stone wall. And eyes at a small window. Of a room ornate with amber and intricate carving. An unwelcome body over mine that left me soiled. Those dreams would hold me down and keep me from breathing. If I could get enough breath to scream, I could wake up. Sometimes it took a long time to get enough breath.

The Fool would wake up, too.

The first time it happened, the night after my brief escape, I was asleep in the bed with him. It was dark, and I couldn't see him in the lightless room, but my scream had woke him up from his slumber. As I lay still, gasping and choking, he edged closer to me. He drew his arm around me, and he kissed the top of my head gently. “Go to sleep, Beloved,” He told me, softly. “I'm here. I'll take care of you.” I clung to him as a baby would cling to his mother. As a wounded Dhil'a would cling to his bonded mate, and gasped as his slender hand combed my hair gently.

From that first night, the dreams came back every time I slept, whatever or not was light outside. Always, when they made me scream and cry and wake, he was close. If I was sleeping with Snowcloud on the rug he would kneel beside me and held me. Snowcloud would lap away my tears and whine softly, sharing my pain. Sometimes, I thought the Fool was starting to feel that, too. He would woke up before I, his sleep disturbed by my nightmares. One night, as I cried over his shoulders, I rose my eyes to his face and, in the beginning of dawn, I could see his distress and a shadow of my own pain in his own. He breathed in and tried to smile at me. I had no wish to make neither him or Snowcloud suffer, and I started shielding my dreams from them.

 

The days strung together, like beads of a necklace. Sometimes, when the night had been rough and full of bad dreams, I would lie awake on the bed and watch the Fool carving. I got lost in the precise movements of his elegant hands and long fingers. Yet even as I watched him, something nagged at me. There was a difference, not in what he did, but in how he did it. One day I watched as he carved a spoon. He had been working on it for most of the afternoon, and I could both see and feel his frustration. I rose and walked toward him. His hand held the tools with great care. His bare hands. My eyes fixed on his left one, and on the unblemished dark skin of it. I blinked.

"The Skill."

He rose his head to me, and followed my eyes. He sighed.

"The Skill on your finger." I pressed on, without knowing why, nor precisely what I was talking about. An echo of an old pain ached somewhere within me.

He shook his head and smiled, crookedly. "Gone, Fitz. What was left of it." His voice was quiet, and I could feel his loss.

 He stood silent, as awaiting my answer, but I had nothing to say and so I just looked at him. Then he stood up and walked out, leaving me alone with Snowcloud in the house.

 

One morning, I awoke feeling still the sweet smell of paper and the sensation of its crispiness over my fingers, the feel of a brush as it traces neat lines. I looked around. I was alone in the house. Over the table there was a bowl of rice with smoked fish and vegetable. I quested out for my people. Snowcloud was in the Jungle, running after a prey, more for the fun of it than for food. The Fool was harder to feel, but I could tell he was quite far on the beach, and going farther. I stood up and ate a little. The Fool was always upset if I didn't eat enough.

Then I went, and gathered leaves and flowers and beetles to make inks.

It was a beautiful day, sunny and clear, with a soft breeze. The sky above seemed limitless, and it met the ocean almost without the slightest line.

I needed the best part of the morning to find enough of them. I didn't question how I knew what plants would make a good red, and which one was best for a bright yellow. I also tried to catch a squid, but it ended in nothing save a good drenching in water.

I came back home, buoyed by my catch and started sorting it, humming to myself. I scurried the pastry and the house, all of it save the Fool's room, for supply I could use. I found some useful materials, and started working. I was halfway through my preparation when Snowcloud came back with a javalina juvenile. I prepared it, catching the blood to use in my inks and cooking some of it for Snowcloud. I ate what was left of the rice and fish, and went back to work. Snowcloud lied in the shade of the house during the hottest part of the day, watching me and drowsing out. As I measured the exact quantities to accomplished the desired colour, I felt happy.

In the mid of the afternoon I had finished. I was about to let the inks set when I noticed it. There was no paper. I searched again, everywhere but in the forbidden room, but I found nothing. I couldn’t even find the ancient scrolls the Fool had been studying of late. Disappointed, I sat at the table and frowned at the inks. Inks had no use without papers. I entertained the idea of using a broad leaf instead, but discarded it. Then I thought of the Fool. Perhaps he was somewhere where there was paper. I concentrated and quested toward him. As always, he was as elusive as a fish in a stream, and just as difficult to catch. I opened my bond to him. At first, it dizzied me. The bond, much as the person it tied me to, wavered and danced as light under water. It was so very different from what I had with Snowcloud that I stood gaping for a second, while my beast companion laughed at me. But, odd as it may be, it felt satisfyingly strong. And it was eerily beautiful in its strangeness. I basked in the connection for a moment, then I took a deep breath and tried to send him my thought.

_Fool?_

Nothing. I tried again, stronger this time. Snowcloud rose her white muzzle from her paws and looked at me with keen interest.

_Fool?_

Something glistened. A different colour in the dazzling rainbow, another note in the fey melody. It was difficult to gauge what it meant, but it was a response, nonetheless. Heartened, I attempted once more.

_Fool? Can you hear me?_

This time the reaction was so strong it almost knocked me off the chair. A maelstrom of colours and sparkles and sharp emotions almost drowned me. I clutched the table so strongly that my knuckles went white. Eventually, the chaos subsided in a dumbfound calm, like the ocean after a storm.

_Keppet! It is me, Beloved._ I sent, bewildered. _I just wanted to ask you if you can get me some paper. For the inks._

For a long moment there was nothing. Then a tendril of thought touched my mind. I smiled at it, even before I could decipher it as words.

_Fitz? Is… is it you?_ The Fool's voice sounded much as it true one, if such a thing can be said to sound at all. Fine and melodic and pleasant to my mind as his true one was to my ear. I smiled.

_Yes_. I was about to talk some more, when Snowcloud interjected.

_Brother mine, if you want to shout some more, I think there may be some Mole People underground who have not heard you._

I frowned at Snowcloud who barked at me and wagged her tail. But she was right. We were being very loud indeed. Every Kham of Waitan had probably heard us.

_We are too noisy, Fool. Everybody can listen to us. I'll wait for you at home._

Again, all I could feel from him was the same, dumbfounded calm. Then he groped around our connection and tried to shut it down. He did it so poorly that I winced. Snowcloud and I looked at each other and sighed in unison.

_He needs to be taught. It may not be easy._

She barked at me, thumping her tails to the ground.

_Because you were born knowing oh so much of the Wit, brother mine._

I ignored her, a skill I had already re-acquired, and looked at my inks, pondering if the Fool would remember to bring me paper. I could not understand his bewilderment. Our bond had been steadily growing from even before I had remember I existed. Perhaps he was surprised it was already so sturdy. And perhaps I felt as strange to him as he felt to me.

 

When he came back the sky was beyond sunset, and twilight tinged it with the last rays of the sun. I was sitting on the cliff, petting Snowcloud, when I spotted his figure walking in the beach below. I rose and went into the house to kindle the fire for the evening meal and to light the lamps.

_…Fitz?_

I rose my head and turned, smiling. He was standing in the threshold. The word was tentative, but I was pleased he had manage to convey as much to me.

_Hello, Fool. I have prepared dinner._ I replied, warmly. In the dancing, oily light of the lamps I saw his auburn eyes grew round. Light danced over him, highlighting his sharp cheekbones and the planes of his neck. I tilted my head over my shoulder, confused. Snowcloud leaped from under the table and sneakily jumped on the Fool, catching him in a rare moment of unawareness. He made a surprised sound as she washed his face with her tongue.

I laughed out loud. He looked at me with mock outrage as he fended her away with his arms. Then his gaze got serious. He watched me and bit his lip. Then he went to sit at the table.

Something in his movement froze me on the spot. I blinked. He looked at me, and I at him. For a moment I saw him, fully and completely. His dark hair had the colour of walnut wood, sleek as horse mane, but finer than any silk. His skin had a more golden hue, resembling bronze, or burnished gold. His eyes reminded me of dark pools of coffee. Superficially, we were alike, but I knew those similarities were skin-deep. His heart beat lower and more on the left than mine did, his bones and muscles were joined differently than mine were. Had been. He moved with elegance, graceful as a dancer. For a moment I as I watched at him and saw a white child, then a golden youth. Then I blinked, and I was looking at him as he was now.

He sighed again.

"Fitz. What happened today?" His voice was low and quiet. I blinked again, uncomprehending.

"I asked you if you could fetch me some paper. " His gaze was bleak as I spoke. I tried again. "I made inks." I explained, gesturing toward the rank where I had put them. He turned to look at them.

"Yes. You asked me. How did you do that?" His voce had the patient, gentle tone he had used when I couldn't even recall my own self. I frowned.

"As you called me before. Through our bond." I replied, confused. In the dimming light I could see colour leave his face. All I could see in his eyes was pure shock. Suddenly, watching him, I was scared. A nameless fear gripped me. I groped for Snowcloud and she came toward me, without words, but with eyes full of worry.

_Changer?_

I didn't answer, but I knelt at her side and hide my face in her fur, breathing her clean scent. Two or three breaths passed.

"Our Skill-bond is gone, Fitz. What was left of it. It went with the Skill on my fingers." I rose my head. He had moved whilst I wasn't watching, and now sat cross-legged on the rug, close to me, but not touching. He was rubbing together the fingers of his left hand. His long robe flowed around him. Fishes and leaves and vines were embroidered on the hem. I knew it for his work as soon as my eyes set on it.

"Not our Skill-Bond. Our Wit-bond." I replied, surprised. His hands twitched and his face became paler still. His narrow lips thinned. The fear, temporarily abashed, rose again. I held Snowcloud closer. She watched between me and the Fool, and I could feel her resignation to our puppyish behaviour. I would have smiled, had my guts not be clenched inside me.

"We are People. Pack." I said, helplessly. He closed his eyes at that with a little, pained sound. Words in another language flourished in my mind. Than il lle irma a' na er wuh amin?

He winced. Then he frowned. Suddenly, I understood I had spilled some of it inside him. I hastily withdrew from our connection. He brought a hand to his brow and sighed.

"Well, at least this explain part of it. Vien had been wondering how it could be that you had survived the… tearing. And he was even more surprised to see you starting to recover." Vien. The name meant something to me, but in that moment, I couldn't rightly recall what. It was not important. I simply looked at him. "He said that your bond with Snowcloud was probably part of it. Gluing you together, by his words. I suppose two bonds are better than one." I bit my lips. Didn't he want the bond?

_Little brother, you are confusing the Changer. Please, stop. He is hard enough to bear when he is in top condition._

The Fool blinked. Then he looked at Snowcloud. I did, too. She barked and wagged her tail.

_Snowcloud…?_ The voice wasn't mine. It was his, all melody and dancing lights. Snowcloud barked and, for the second time in the day, jumped up to him. The Fool hit the ground under 160 pounds of wolf-dog with a startled gasp. All I could see where his legs and my companion wagging tail.

_Ah, little brother, you find your ears at last! Got you enough time. Now we are together, and we shall be pack forever!_

Memory of another time, so far away, so different, and yet almost the same words, exploded in my mind. I almost staggered backward, falling as the Fool had fallen under Snowcloud, but at the same moment I felt a responding echo within me, memories of hunting and running with my pack. Something, somebody, who was now a deep part of me howled in happiness. For a split second, there were not three, but four of us. I smiled. Then the moment passed, but the memories stayed behind, and I knew Nightseye once more. I shuddered and breathed in, as a great part of what had been FitzChivalry was restored to me. I blinked back the tears in my eyes.

When my vision cleared the Fool had managed to extricate himself from Snowcloud. He was looking at her with dismay and amusement so perfectly mixed on his face that I laughed out loud, the previous uneasiness forgotten. He wagged his finger at me but sparkles of humor danced in his eyes. Snowcloud, my companion. Snowcloud, the grand-daughter of Nightseye looked at me and I could feel her love, and another one, similar yet different, echoed inside me. Nightseye. My brother. I bit my lips and shuddered. I closed my eyes, and tried to recompose myself. A memory and more than a memory of lambent yellow eyes flickered in my mind.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulder. The Fool didn't know about the bond, I remind myself. His wasn't a refusal, but simply a lack of knowledge.

"We are… bonded now. It is a Wit-bond." I explained, and his face sobered immediately. He nodded. I tried to organize my thoughts. "I believed you knew. " I added, slowly. He shook his head and looked out of the windows at the dark sky beyond.

"No. Sometimes I could… feel you. Where you were. Or if you were distressed. But I thought those were remnants of our Skill-Bond." He frowned. "Thought, now that you tell me, it doesn't feel the same." I nodded.

He looked thoughtful and then eyed Snowcloud. She barked and lolled her tongue at him. Prudently, he slid away. I attempted to bite back a snicker.

 I rose on my feet and reached for him. He took my hand and stood up. His fingers curled around mine. He had put on his gloves, I noticed. Old habits are, after all, hard to die.

"Can you feel me?" His voice was soft. I looked at him, but his face was turned away from me, and his expression, if he had any, was clouded in the shadows.

I nodded. "Yes. But very seldom. You are…" I groped for words, but they failed me. I watched him, and tried to find a description, for what I have felt. I failed. "You are beautiful." I said, in the end. I winced. It didn't sound so well, said out loud.

His fingers clenched mine for a second, and then released me. He took a deep breath, but he didn't turn toward me.

"Am I? How droll!” He exclaimed softly, and for a moment sounded almost like himself. I smiled and went to the heart, to kindle the fire now reduced to embers. I passed close to the table. Over it, there were sheets of good white papers, rolled up and carefully wrapped to avoid staining. I looked at them and smiled some more, hope suddenly surging in me, like the tide toward the moon.

For a moment, I truly believed all could be well. Then a strange shiver ran over me as a breeze made the door creak. My head swum. I recalled, suddenly, of a summer morning in my childhood when I had watched a butterfly twitch and tear its way out of its chrysalis. Changes. I felt as if someone had spoken words aloud to me and I echoed them, softly, too softly for other to hear. “Time for a change.”

_A changing time_ , a wolf echoed me in return. I turned around, but the sound wasn't outside. It was in me.

My head spun for the second time in one evening. Goosebumps rose on my flesh. A time for change. A changing time. With a sinking feeling, I knew. We were overdue. 

Then I clenched my jaw and went to help the Fool prepare for supper. I did not glance at him to see if he, too, had felt it. I knew he had. But like a drowning man attempts to breath underwater, knowing that it will only hasten his demise, I clung to those stolen moments away from Time in that house on the cliff in front of the ocean, under the endless blue sky.

I knew it wouldn't last.


	3. Wind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I welcome a new beta, Mariana! :D
> 
> So, I have planned out Blue. I am 17 chapters in, and in total it will PROBABLY be 24, including the Interludes.  
> No, it won't be the end of CoR. CoR will have other two parts (I think ò.ò): a long part and an epilogue.  
> Fool's Fate is 326k words (counting even introductions etcetera). I am currently 185k in and going strong. What do you think, I may be able to write a story just as long as FF! :P
> 
> Thanks to Rivana and Noam for their comments! <3  
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3
> 
>  
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u
> 
>  
> 
> In this chapters and the next we will finally learn what happened in the Six Duchies in the time between the Epilogue and the departing of Fitzy for Clerres... including what happened with Molly! ;)

** Chapter Three: Wind **

                                                              

_Vietmar is divided in two_ _broad_ _provinces: the East Province and the West Province, held by two Great Houses. The eastern province is called the Tma's province. Its colour is blue and it is held by House_ _Nyugien. The western province is the Vei's province. Its colour is red and it is held by House Thrin_ _._

_The people too are different. The eastern province confines with the M'karg Desert and it is set on the White Road that rolls toward the east of Clerres, going almost directly to Kizah, Atremandia and Thantres. The western province confines with Liantharin alone. Dushanbe, the Capital, is exactly in the middle of Vietmar._

_Up to recent time, the Vei's province was the richer one. It became strong from the trade with Liantharin, and it reaped the benefit of the rivers and channels that crisscross it. The province grew rice and orchards and cattle. It prospered. But the Vei's province also holds the blunt of the recent instability. First the refugees from the civil war flew to it, in search of peace. Then, the Iduyans' nomads followed them, assaulting the border._

_This situation had his peak in the time of the Sack of Lhansa. Hordes of refugees fled the city by the White Roads. Some went North, to be slaughtered by the Iduyans' and their demons. But most went South, toward Vietmar and Uzkabat. As the bridges on the Heise were destroyed, while the one on the Baise held, their path was forced toward Thang Long and Vietmar. Demons and Nomad Warriors, embolden by their easy victories, followed them on the Road, butchering the hapless as they went. The White Road from what was once Lhasa to Thang Long is still called the Red Road, in memory of those days. I fear it will always be named so._

_They met no resistance up to the Vietmar's border. Thence, they found me._

_Far too much had been written and said and sung about the Battle of Thang Long already, without me adding my words as well. Suffice to say that I won. In spite of what the ballads recount, it was not without pain. Nor without help. More than my strength, bravery, or even my Skill, it was the very fact that somebody was fighting them with weapons they knew nothing about that disbanded them._

_The refugees were a strain on the Vei's province for a long time. The Crown helped, with goods and coins to aid the setting of the people in a new land. As time went by, many found a place in Vietmar. Some left for the rest of Clerres. Some furnished the hands for what was to become the Second Great Sail fleet. And, when I went to Waitan years after, some went with me, to found Fisil and Silvarin. Among them were the Great Trainers, who trains the Huans for the nobility of Clerres and who are the greatest scholars of the White Land._

_The Tma's province had seen little of the war, but it had_ _reaped_ _its benefit. Such is the way of the World, I suppose, than some would find prosperity in others misery, and for no action of neither. When Liantharin's goods started to be scarce in Clerres and Vietmar began supplying them by trade with the Away Lands, commerce betwix Dushanbe and the East of Clerres soared. Much of that newfound wealth passed through the White Road in the Tma's province, enriching it. A new town flourished at the margin of the Mkran'g Desert, on a small oasis. Against my wishes, it had been called "Dothi Ca'Chihn". The City of Chihn. Caravans departs thence on the White Road toward the East and the North._

_Even before Sendàr's death, much of the work of keeping the two major Lords, and the several minor lordlings, in line was on Chundra's capable shoulders, and, on a lesser extent, on mine._

 

 

The day after I began teaching the Fool how to control our bond. It was not an easy task, because the bond itself was a fey thing, as eerie and strange as the man it linked me to, and because the Fool had no Wit. At first, I thought the bond faulty. It was nothing like the steady link binding me to Snowcloud, nor like the connection Nightseye and I had shared. Gradually, I came to understand that the Fool was like glass. Glass doesn't block light, and one can see through it, yet it is here. So was my Keppet. My Wit passed through him, and as such I could perceive what was beyond. And crystal he remained to me, but sometimes he was crystal coloured in all the shades of rainbow, and many more I have scarcely a name for. What I had said the first time he asked was true. He was beautiful. Even if I could feel him but seldom. When I groped for him, he was as wont as to blind me with his light as to feel like the clear panel of a window. There, but unseen. It is still so.

To this day I wonder how I feel to him.

In those first times of our bond, he tried excuses to be away, far from me. He would go to gather fruits and herbs, or he would go fishing. Sometimes, he simply went for long walks. I remembered his words after he made me whole again, so long ago. He didn't feel as I did. So I started shielding him from my feelings and emotions. I let less than I would with Snowcloud leak through. And I started teaching him.

Our sessions were always short, yet they seemed to fatigue him above what they should have. I thought it was because the Wit was not a magic natural to him, till Snowcloud pointed otherwise.

It was after one of our first lessons. We were in the jungle's shadow, under the cliff where our home stood. I had been trying to teach him how to call for me without alerting every Wit creature far and wide. It was a simple exercise, one that Old Blood children learn almost as soon as they learn to talk, and one Nightseye and I had mastered, with the help of Black Rolf, in a matter of hours. Yet it was more than a day and the Fool still struggle to single Snowcloud and me out, to aim at us before speaking aloud in the Wit.

"No, Fool. Try to feel only Snowcloud and me. Just the two of us. Nobody else." I explained for what felt like the hundredth time. I fear my impatience for his slowness showed. I had never been a good teacher. He looked at me, his dark eyes pinched, then he sighed and lowered his head on his raised knees and pressed the palms on his temples, his slim shoulders hunched. I immediately bit back my words and looked at him, powerlessly. He seemed small and tired, all of a sudden. Snowcloud, with us for the lesson, pointed an accursedly stare at me.

"I am just tired, Fitz. Give me a moment." His tone was weary beyond words. Snowcloud looked at me again and went to him, giving what little of his cheek she could reach a small lick.

_You are too hard with him, Changer. He is not like us._

I frowned. _I know this._

She regarded me from above the Fool's lowered head. Her white fur contrasted again his auburn hair. The setting sun gave both of them a reddish hue.

_Do you? If you do know, then why do you try to make him into us? You don't make a tree grow by pulling its branches. Let him be himself._

I blinked.

_You are right, sister._

She yapped a little, wagging her tail. _Yes, I know. It is a habit of mine._

I ignored her and reached with a hand for the Fool's shoulder. It still shocks me every time, how delicate he is, despite his wiry strength. He stirred at my touch and squared his shoulders. When he raised his head, his face had a determined look.

"I am ready. Let's start again." I couldn't help but smile with pride at his obstinate strength.

"No. This is not the way." I replied, determined. Before he could counteract, I added, "I'll teach you how to shield yourself from us. Then… We will see. But not today. Tomorrow."

He looked at me, too exhausted to argue. Then he smiled and nodded. He was a stubborn student, if not a gifted one. He learnt to separate himself from us achingly easily, compared to how hard he found to share with us. I learnt, as well. For him, being apart came easier than being together.

I believe the thought pains him still.

 

My lives began stitching themselves together. All I had been came pushing back at me and gave me no peace. Old memories began to overlay my new ones. There were gaps and puckers in the joining, but it was getting harder and harder to refuse to know things. Names took on meanings and faces again.

One evening we were forced indoors by the wind. It blew from the ocean, its brackish smell heralding a storm. The dry season was ending. I stood at the window, marveling at the ever-shifting colours of the sea and at the matching darkness of the rumbling clouds. I watched flames erupting from the water where a lightening hit the ocean. A thunder shook the earth itself and I steadied myself with the window frame.

The Fool was working at a bowl, carving flowers, vines and birds. His hands and the polished wood had almost the same colour. Snowcloud laid sprawled in front of the heart, drowsing. The room was bathed in a yellow light. I relished the contrast betwix the golden, warm room against the blue, stormy night.

"Prosper would love this night." I said aloud. The Fool rose his eyes to meet mine, and his hands stilled for a moment in his work. But he said nothing. I went on, not knowing why, remembering as I went.

"Prosper is the firstborn of Dutiful and Elliania. He is a strong, placid boy. Was. When I left, he was sixteen years old. He must be a grown man now. He reminded me of Verity."

The Fool had started his carving again. But something in the slow deliberation of his movements told me how alert to my words he was. Another blast of thunder shook the house. I closed the shutters against the rattling wind and went to the table. I took out the paper and my ink. The yellow had become a warm, dense colour, but the red had took a bad smell and a sickly hue. I discharged it and grasped one of my brushes. As I did so, I found myself talking again.

"He will make a good King. Then there are the twins. Bravery and Cunning. Bravery is all her mother. She is strong and courageous, though something she should think before speaking, or acting. Cunning was something of a surprise. His brother and sister are strong and dark. He is more slender, and fair besides. He took after Kettrichken and her mountain blood."

"Or after your mother." His words were soft as a dove's plume. I didn't raise my eyes from the wide brush strokes I was making.

"Or after my mother." I acknowledged. "Swift once told me he was the runt of the litter. He was sickly as a child. Always ill and skinny. Nobody expected him to survive childhood, I think, save Chade. Chade cured Cunning. With the Skill."

My voice died in me and my hand trembled. A botch of yellow fell on the paper, staining it. I watched the spot. Outside, it was raining, the heavy rain telling us that the Rain Season was not far to come. Something was there. Something that rang as rich as chiming bells with memories and emotions.

"I killed Chade." I finally said out loud. The Fool hands stilled on his task. I didn't have the heart to raise my head. I closed my eyes, and Snowcloud whined a little. I shuddered and slowly put the brush down. I folded my hands in my lap and looked at them, longing for the nothingness that had been me no more than three moons before. But it would not come.

My throat felt parched. Blindly, I reached for the water on the table and took a long swing.

"After you left me, I went on. Time passed. I married Molly. We went to live in Withywoods. I helped Dutiful." I paused. Memories joined in my mind as I spoke, like rivulets of waters join to form a puddle. And, like water, they weren't easily stopped, as desperately as I wished it. "I think you know of it. I was content." Shadows of a cottage on the shore of Buck, where I told him the same words, floated around me. I could see my own hands but dimly. "I wrestled much of his power from Chade, to give to Dutiful as he was ready for it. The old man didn't give in easily. But after the twins were born, Chade announced his retirement from the court. He said he wanted to spend his last years in peace, in the Mountain Kingdom. I was glad of it."I paused. "I was a fool." I added, softly. I rose my head, meeting his eyes. They were quiet, like dark pool of coffee. He came back to work at the bowl, without a word. Waiting.

The wind rattled the shutters. I shuddered.

"Do you remember Thick?" A nameless ache constricted my throat. I blinked. The Fool casted a sidelong glance at me, and nodded. His features were carefully neutral, like he himself was a wooden sculpture, and not a living thing. To my Wit, he felt like the surface of a pond. Clear and transparent, the threshold of a different World.

"He grew ill. I think… I believe it is normal for people like him. They don't live long. Chade had studied much of the ancient lore about how the Skill can be used to cure. So, when he asked for Thick to be sent to him, it was allowed. Five years after, he sent words that Thick was dead. We were all grieved, but we expected it. Then he came back, and cured Cunning."

I licked my lips. I felt like I was suffocating. I gulped down water again. Water poured around the house. Snowcloud rose her head and put her muzzle over her outstretched paws, looking at me. She knew this story.

 "He brought tiding of King Eyod. He was very old, and ailing. He asked for one of his grandchildren to become the next Sacrifice. Prosper would be King, and Bravery was second in line, but Chade argued that Cunning could be accepted by the Mountain People as the next Sacrifice. A Seventh Duke. We thought on it, and it seemed a fine idea. The boy was eight. Old enough to go to his Grandfather, learnt the way of the Mountain Kingdom and start the Seventh Duchy. So, Dutiful accepted, and Cunning departed with Chade."

In a flash of remembrance as blinding as the lightening dancing outside, I remembered Cunning and Chade. Oh, I remembered them so clearly. They had passed by Withywoods before going to the Mountains. Cunning was a strange lad, scrawny and silent with shadows under his eyes. His illness used to set him apart from his hearty and lively siblings and from the other children of Buckkeep. No healers had known what to do with the child. He didn't eat and he seemed bloodless, devoid of life and strength. Even in my Wit, Cunning always sensed weak. I had not seen humans with such an ailment, but I had seen several runts in litters whelped by our hounds, and I had seen the feeble twin colts one of the Buckkeep's mare delivered. Sometimes they could be saved. More often they couldn't.

It was a Summer evening, a good moment to travel toward the Mountains. I had been busy in the fields the whole day, with Riddle. I was tired, the good tiredness that leave the body aching for rest, food and warmth and the mind satisfied with the knowledge of jobs well done. The sun bathed the World in golden, and gave to the timber of the castle a silken glow. When I was back at the manor, I spotted two strange horses in the court: a spirited sorrel and a small, white pony. Then I noticed their riders. I gave heels to my mount, a willing mare I had called Sooty in honor of one of her grandmother, though she had none of Sooty's markings.

I still remember Chade's face as he looked at me from beyond his sorrel's back. His green eyes shone in the last light and something sparkled in them. To this day, I cannot name it. It was happiness and ache at once. If I would be force to define it, I would call it the stare the Past may have when looking at the Present. Then I spotted Cunning. The child too was looking at me, and in his eyes, a soft shade of brown, I found something else I didn't know. In that moment, something that once Verity had said about Shrewd sprung to my mind. Cunning the boy was named, and, whatever his age may be, cunning he was.

Chade and Cunning stayed with us that night, but excused themselves in the morning. I recalled watching the boy, trying to gauge his thought from his manners and his face. I had no luck. He was polite to the point of compulsion, and as mysterious as some children are. I tried to recall what I knew of him. Precious little, I discovered.

"Prosper and Bravery came often to Withywoods with their parents. I enjoyed being with them as Dutiful and Elliania spent time alone together. They used to hunt in the first years we lived in Withywoods, too, but then…" My voice died in me. I watched my hand. They were big, and rough, and stained in yellow ink. I contemplated unseeing the dancing shadows the lamp and the heart casted on them. The Fool was a lithe shadow among them. I didn't rise my eyes to him. "Molly took a dislike for the hounds. She claimed she feared for the little princes and that their bays didn't let her sleep." I blinked. "I had been spending much time with the hounds. But not everybody is as used to dogs as I am." I bit my lips. It was the truth, but not the whole truth. A thunder rocked the house. I sighed and closed my eyes. "And perhaps she feared I would bond again." I added, in a whisper. I shrugged my shoulder, as a wolf would do to cast away droplets of water. Would bad memories be as easy to shake.

I resumed my tale. "But Cunning almost never came. He was too delicate to travel, or to partake in the rough tumbling and games of his more lusty siblings. Prosper was a good hunter and a good horseman. He learnt fast how to follow a trail. At ten, he was a better tracker than many men thrice his age. He never lost a trail, and when he did he searched for it 'till he would find it again. He was Witted, too." I let that sink. "Strongly Witted, more than his father was. In comparison, his Skill was faint. Bravery was not Witted, but her Skill was strong. When I left, she was training to be head of a coterie for her brother. She liked to hunt with hawks more than with hounds and refused skirts. She and Nettle were very close, and spent much time together." I took again the brush, and resumed my working, concentrating on each flowing line. The trembling in my hand subsided.

"And Cunning?" The Fool's voice was soft, oddly intimate. I sighed.

"I didn't know. He wasn't tested for the Skill, and he gave no indication of being Witted." I paused. "Nobody took much notice of him. Elliania… She had the Out Island way. Cunning was a weakling for her. She preferred to spend time in politic or with her other children. Especially Bravery. She managed to make the Dukes accept that her second born should go to Out Islands to learn their ways. Bravery was gone every summer since she was a child. Dutiful loved Cunning, but he had a Kingdom to care for and other two, more healthy, offsprings. Nobody was cruel to the child. But nobody took much notice of him, neither."

"Sometime, being not looked is worse than being struck."

I stopped my work and looked up at the Fool in surprise. He had turned his face at an angle from me, and was looking at the wall like he could see the dark, stormy night beyond it. Snowcloud rose on her feet and stirred all her limbs, before trotting to the Fool. He scratched her throat absently.

I nodded. "Yes. So when Cunning was healed, and in the same time Chade proposed him as the Seventh Duke, the suggestion was well meet by all. They went to the Mountains. Molly's children were all grown. Most of them had left us to make their own heart. There were many grandchildren. I heard little more from either Chade or Cunning for two more years." I paused again. "I tried not to hear from them. Dutiful was the King. He was able to take care of all the Six Duchies needed. I did not want to know what was happening beyond my holding. Sometimes, Dutiful would try. He would start by telling me of this or that Duke or noble, or attempt to lure me in a conversation about foreign countries. I wanted none of it. I diverted the talk to other, homely matters. In time he respected me, and stopped trying." I watched Snowcloud, who was still being petted by the Fool. She seemed quiet, but I could feel her attention in our bond. "I thought I had earned peace in my declining years." I laughed then, a chuckling sound at my own silliness and shook my head fondly at the fool I had been. "You see, I was approaching my fiftieth year. Not old, but close to old age. It was a time in which I was supposed to reap what I had sowed, not to seed more. It seems I had not yet learnt that you can't hide from Fate. Nor from yourself."

A shadow feel across the Wit bond the Fool and I shared. I rose my head and met his eyes, blinking. With my heightened awareness of him, I could see… Something. A pluck of emotion, echoed betwix us. I frowned and he bit his lips and lowered his gaze. Sometimes he is very hard to read. I reached with my hand for one of his, stilled in their work by my tale, and clasped the long fingers in mine. His coolness was familiar, and so was the answering grip. I hesitated. Perhaps he had no wish to know more.

He clasped my hand again, and waited. I took a breath. "I…"

He must have felt my uncertainty, whatever by our bond or by more hearty means, I don't know. His eyes gazed once more into mine. His tone changed to a quiet plea. “Tell me all you can, in good conscience. For I never know what it is I need to hear until I have heard it.” Same words said in another cottage echoed my mind. Something like the sound of spinning Wheels echoed them in my mind.

I shivered and nodded.

"Two years after, Chade invited me to come to the Mountain Kingdom. King Eyod would officially appoint Cunning as his heir. Since Dutiful would not come, I think the old man wanted the presence of any Farseer, even an unacknowledged one as I was." I paused. "Dutiful could not come. The transition from independent Kingdom to Seventh Duchy would not be easy for the Mountain People and things were going surprisingly smoothly. Having the King there could upset the careful balance. There would be a second ceremony when Cunning would become of age, in front of all the other Dukes. But now I wonder if Cunning would not have wanted his father there." I sighed. "At first, I didn't answer the note Riddle delivered me. I had no desire to do so. It was Hap who made me change my mind."

The Fool raised an eyebrow. He unclasped my hand and we both resumed, as one, our task. Outside, the rain poured down. Snowcloud yawned and padded lazily back to the heart. I followed her with my eyes. She had always liked the first rain of the rain season, ever since we came to Clerres.

"Hap had token much of the job of Starling. He scoured the Duchies and reported to Dutiful and the Court. Half spy, half minstrel. I think he thoroughly enjoyed both roles. Perhaps a week after the note from Chade had come, Hap presented himself at our fields. He was always welcomed, but he would usually stop for a little time, before departing again. That time, he didn't stop at all. He went to find me in the fields, and talked about the mountains, their beauty. We sat under a tree, and he sung me a Mountain Kingdom's lullaby."

My mind flew back to that day. It had been the first, mild heath of Summer, and I was walking in the fields, alone, when Hap appeared. He had grown in a strong man, and he was in the prime of his life. As I watched him, I noticed the differences for the boy he had been. Time had tamed some of his exuberance. His mismatched eyes shone with life, but a secretive wisdom lurked in their depths. He had grown a moustache. I watched him then, his form against the setting sun, and for reason unknown to me, shuddered.

I resumed my tale and my work. "I liked Withywoods. But I sorely missed the harsher beauty of the untamed forest. All was too orderly in the humans' fields for my liking. A strange unrest came upon me. Again and again, after the hounds were gone, I was drawn by the loneliness of Nature. It was almost a Skill-hunger. I couldn't understand it. I had what I wanted. What I have always wanted. But after Hap left, I thought it wouldn't be bad to go to the Mountain Kingdom to see Cunning become King Eyod's heir and to enjoy the beauty of Jhaampe once more. I spoke with Molly. She had no desire for such a long travel. So I decided to go alone." I sighed. Again, I stopped working. I rose on my feet and went to the heart. I caressed Snowcloud's flank and she thumped her tail against the ground lazily. I threw some more logs inside the fire. My mouth felt parched for the long tale. I looked at the fire and thought longingly on food.

In silence, the Fool rose. Without a word, he went out in the rain. I stared at the door uncomprehendingly. After a minute, he came back with a sika deer raw leg in his hand and went to prepare it for roasting, rubbing it with herbs and salt. I went back to the table and took a swing of clear water, before rummaging the pastry for vegetables. We didn't say a word more while we prepared the meal. I glanced at him, wondering if he was angry at me for having interrupted my telling. But his bronzed features showed nothing but a sort of quiet, thoughtful calm.

My muscles unclenched and I breathed more freely. Snowcloud watched the serow's leg with calculating intent. The rain and the wind isolated the small house. In a fleeting thought, it came to me that we could have been alone in the World.

Would it be that it were so.

The lamp’s light shone, casting an aureate glow over both of us. I looked at him for a long moment as he was bent in his task. In this light, he almost looked like he once had, all gold and amber. He glanced over at me, caught my eyes on him, and stared back at me, a strange avidity in his face. I returned his gaze with my own, words in a language unspoken in thousands of years dancing into my mind. . A moment later, he spoke.

“So. You went to the Mountains. . . ?”

I turned away my eyes. My head felt empty and light. I shook it, and blinked. The wind rattled against the shutters, and the sound distracted me. I turned to it.

_Scentless one, you are overwhelming the Changer. And you don't have him in your head as I do. I would like to rest this night without being annoyed by any small sound or twinkle of star. Because if I don't sleep, I get grumpy. And when I am grumpy, tearing your clothing to shred sounds like such a lovely idea to relax…_

Snowcloud's words made me blink and I bit my lips to suppress a chuckle. The Fool jumped a little. He was still unaccustomed to my companion addressing him directly.

I decided to go to his help. “Tomorrow, Keppet. Tomorrow. Give me a night to sleep on it, and ponder how best to tell it.”

He smiled back at me. "Thank you. And on a pure general note, I quite like my clothes as they are." He directed a poignant glance at Snowcloud. She barked and lolled her tongue at him, with the complete innocent look that only dogs and children planning mischief can contrive.

The Fool may have noticed it, because he stopped spearing the meat with the split to look at me, worried.

"She wouldn't. Would she?" I bit my lips and shrugged, trying to look as guileless as possible. His eyes darted betwixt me and my wolf-dog. Then he made an exaggerate sigh and rolled his eyes dramatically. His face took an expression of mock betrayal and his right hand, still holding the split, went toward his heart. The pantomime was so expressive that I burst out laughing. A delighted look passed over his feature, and he joined me as he went to put the dinner to roast.

I laughed 'till I had tears in my eyes. It had been so long since last time I had. It felt good, like clear water as it quenched your thirst feels good.


	4. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mariana and the WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Special thanks to Emanuelle, who is simply wonderful. Her insightful comments had been truly helpful to me <3 Thanks Emanuelle!
> 
> Thanks to Rivana and Noam for their comments! <3  
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And he is making some more fanart of this! *O*
> 
>  
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u

**_Interlude_ **

_The winter night is high upon the prairie. The stars above shine like shards of ice, reflecting the brine upon the tall grasses. The moon above, a mere sliver, smiles upon it. A sky looking into a sky. In the cold, the place seems dead, its colours a muted symphony of blues and blacks and whites. Huddled forms emit vapors, sleeping animals waiting for the sun, their heavy fur keeping them warm. A feline with long, glistening canine, stalks its way to a bundle of forms with long horns. Reindeers. The animal moves softly, a solitary hunter, lambent eyes fixed on its prey._

_One step. Pause. Another step._

_The last step is halting and a creaking sound, a whisper so very loud in the complete silence, startles the reindeers. With the sensitivity of the prey, they jump on their feet and flee. The saber-tooth’s tail slashes angrily, but it lets them go. No sense in wasting precious energy in trying to run them down. The animal turns its head to place where his paw had made noise. He sniffs it and makes a strangled mew, a chortling sound. He goes away. It does not like the smell._

_Not far whence the feline had hopped away, a small hatch opens, and a head, dark in the soft light, peers out. Then it closes and crawls in the den again._

_Vanyel turns his back to the rough ladle. The den is round, a_ _small natural hollow in the prairie covered with a grate of wooden poles, and over them clod of earth had been carefully arranged, leaving a hole for the smoke to go out. From the outside, it would be hard to notice it, even close by. Small wonder that the saber-tooth tiger did not see it._

_Inside, it reminds of nothing as much as a nest. The fire is set and burning gaily. Soft grasses had been carefully woven in a shell of sturdier wooden sticks to make a strange bedding, inside which furs and woven cloth both make a comfortable place to sleep, exactly in the center of the hollow. Inside the nest, there is a figure. Huddled, not unlike the animals braving the cold outside. But this one is almost furless, save from a thatch of hair, the colour of fine straw, at the top of its head. He is curled up on his side, sleeping unevenly, his eyes closed. Once in a while, he moves, jerking motions, so unlike the smooth hunter he usually is._

_Vanyel watches his dhil’a, then he turns and tip a bowl into a wooden basin, full of water. With care, he brings the cup, fill to the brim, to the man in the nest. Flint moves, exposing his scarred visage, contracted in a perpetual grin. Vanyel doesn’t even flinch and tenderly puts the bowl close to Flint’s lips, giving him sip after sip. On the ground, Whiteclaw raises his white muzzle to them, but he doesn’t stir._

_When the bowl is empty, the White crawls inside the nest and holds the human close. Vanyel’s grey-blue eyes look worryingly at Flint, and a frown mars his forehead. He waits._

_Outside, the saber-tooth does its kill as the moon set behind the prairie._

 

_The man shivers in the nest._

_There is a morbid absence of sound, a soft nothingness that suggest snow. The man is cocooned in soft furs and fragrant grasses, inside what looks either like a woven basket or a nest. His stonelike eyes blink in the soft light and a strangled sound, almost like a mew, escapes his parched lips._

_A cup is held to his mouth. Flint drinks greedily the cold liquid. Then he falls among the furs painting. His vision is doubled and he feels feverish. Images of a place never seen and never imaged flashes inside his mind. Hills too symmetrical to be hills, coloured in all the shades of the rainbows, and white people moving about._

_Pain laces through his spine and Flint arches whimpering. Strong arms envelop him and the pain abates. Flint relaxes in his dhil’a embraces, tossing his head against the futures._

_The snow keeps falling._

 

_The White is looking at the winter camp._

_Winter is leaving the steppes. Frost still hung, stubbornly, from the tall grasses in the cold morning, but the green of spring shows its strength. The animals, too, know that the tide of the year had changed. Reindeers had started their migration and sneak in the landscape in small groups, followed by the meat-eater. The bison and the wholly rhinoceros’s calves blink their eyes in the new sun. The mammoth’s herds will soon come._

_The lodge of bones and earth is silent, as silent as the prairie around it, the shy green of the new grasses looks almost a too joyous reminder of good time. Vanyel watches, his detached blue-grey eyes counting the people scuttling in and out. There are  few of the big boned, tall, dark creatures alike and unlike his dhil’a. The ones who moves about do so but haltingly, like in pain._

_He sees them, but they do not see him, the low birch and the boulder hiding him betwixt their shades. Grey against grey, he is hard to spot._

_A figure exists from the lodge, and Vanyel’s eyes focus on him. A rare smile graces the White’s lips. The straw haired young man walks  toward the birch perched upon the boulder, and toward his dhil’a. Vanyel retreats behind his refuge, sits, and waits._

_Flint folds himself with hunter’s grace close to him and sighs. His scarred face is troubled. His eyes looks at Vanyel and his lips thin._

_“In the last two winters, the Ice Mountain Tribe has lost half of its people. It is the sickness.” Flint watches Vanyel. His eyes are always the grey-blue colour of fine flint, but his gaze is a lighter shade than it used to be. “The Sun Flower, it cures it. The old people said that once it flowers from winter to winter. But it is getting scarce; it is too cold for it.”_

_Vanyel smiles a lopsided smile. “But you didn’t get sick.” It is no question, but Flint answers._

_“No. No, I haven’t. Some have less severe sickness than others, and there was some of the Sun Flower. Not enough, but some.”_

_Vanyel chuckles, a birdlike sound. “But you had no Sun Flower, and you did not get sick.”_

_Flint shrugs, a shadow of uncertainty coming in his eyes. Vanyel averts his face. The wind sings between the grasses and the flower of the prairie, carrying far-away sounds._

_“So. The Ice is killing this people, as it is killing mine.” Vanyel’s voice is soft. Flint frowns, then nods. The two men sit silently, under the mercilessly blue sky. Vanyel brings his knees to his chest and curls his talons under him. The fine plumes on his necks bush out. His eyes take a far-away look. When he speaks, his voice seems to carry on, filling the vast, endless landscape of grasses._

_“The Ice is coming. It will kill us all, all. But the new ones will survive, and in them our blood will live on.”_

_Vanyel turns to watch Flint. His features are so similar to the one of the young man in front of him, and so foreign at once. The black in his eyes is wider, and his eyes are much bigger than Flint’s. They lay immobile in the eye-sockets, incapable of independent movement His teeth, slightly revealed, are narrower and sharper. His skin is the same gray-blue of the boulder behind him, and darker swirls and spirals grace it in sinuous pattern. The back of his neck and the whole of his back is covered in soft plumes. Vanyel breathes in and out, and his long, graceful hand goes to take one of Flint's. The young human doesn’t flinch away._

_“Dhil’amin. Now it is time. Come with me.”_

_Flint blinks. His forehead frowns in concern. Again, he doesn’t speak. Vanyel’s gaze focuses again on him. “Come with me. To my people.” He repeats. Flint’s eyes round in surprise._

_He doesn’t answer. His blue eyes turn to the winter lodge, to the people that are working in and out it. Vanyel frowns, looks at Flint, then at the lodge. Confusion mars his features._

_“Dhil’a?” He asks, and his tone is full of bewilderment._

_Flint doesn’t speak. He rises to his feet and disentangles his hand from Vanyel’s. Without turning to watch the White, he walks down on the winter lodge._

_Vanyel is left with his outstretched hand reaching for his dhil’a. A flash of something very like fear pass in his eyes, and he doesn’t rise to follow Flint._

_The wind keeps singing its endless song on the steppes._

 

_Whiteclaw stands in the prairie, looking idly at the herd of reindeers passing close by._

_His spotted fur makes him almost invisible among the tall grasses’ shadows. His tail twitches. He could hunt, but he is not hungry, so he lazily lets  the animals pass. Also, he is close to his den, and it is always best to hunt far away from the lair, not to bring other meat-eaters where he and his hunting brothers sleep._

_He turns and rolls on the ground, writhing with the sinuousness of the snakes and the felines and paws at the sky with his huge claws extended. This is a good day. The sun warms his white underbelly and the feline yawns, exposing the long fangs. All is well._

_Then something prickles at the edges of himself and he rolls again, tucking his paws under him in the way of all cats. It is not a sound, nor a smell. It comes from the part of him connected to his bonded companion, his hunting brother. Flint._

_His round ears twitch. The wind carries words to him. He rises his muzzle. And listens._

_“… You left! You left two palmful of summers ago, Vanyel. You left me alone! Then you come back and… and this thing happens. I have changed, I know I have changed. You never told me this!” The giant jaguar growls at his bondmate’s feeling and the last small herd of reindeers scatters at the sound, amidst Whiteclaw indifference._

_“I had to leave. And it had to happen, don’t you see, Flint? I wasn’t sure it would happen, but it had. Now we are truly Dhil’a.” A pause, filled only with the wind and the endless chirping of the insects. “ You don’t understand.”_

_“No, this is right. I don’t understand. Maybe I can’t understand. But you don’t, neither, Vanyel. All I must do is live ‘till I die. I don’t have to follow you toward the Sun, to your people. And I won’t. The Mammoth Hunters need me. Soon it will be time for the Great Hunt. I am First Hunter. They took me in when you left. They need me. I shall not betray them now.”_

_Again, silence. Whiteclaw rises on four paws and growls. He knows not what is betwixt his bondmate and the Scentless One, their hunt-brother, but he knows Flint is upset. This is enough for him. He turns and paddles  toward the den._

_As he goes, Flint storms out, without looking left nor right, and almost runs toward the lodge. Whiteclaw flickers his ears and turns his head between where his bondmate had gone and the den. Then he shrugs and follows Flint._

_Inside the hollow lair there is utter silence, not interrupted by wind nor small lives. A silence of death._

 

_The Great Hunt is playing its bloody game on the steppes._

_The herd of Mammoths grazes, unaware of the tiny, tiny figures surrounding them. They have no enemies. No creature, save the Great Cave Lion hunts the Mammoth._

_None, save the creature with small teeth and no claw, but with a big brain, and tools to match._

_The figures are fewer than usual. The Winter has taken a harsh toll this year and when all the Tribes had come to the Hunting Place, only one half of the usual number of hunters had been counted. But they must hunt the Mammoths. They need its tusks and its bones to repair their winter lodges, its meat to eat in winter. Without this hunt, they won’t survive._

_There is no wind. All is still. The figures are all in place, in small groups of three or four. The herd, three palmful of Mammoth, hasn’t noticed anything. The dark figures await the sign. Their javelins with clovis-tips are lowered, their hunched forms invisible among the grasses. Each has several javelins, and around the tip of some of them there is a bundle of dry grass, coated in a sticky, pitchy substance. Then the sound of a horse’s neigh pierces the silence._

_The Mammoth’s matriarch raises her head, but there is no danger, and horses are not predator of Mammoths. So she goes back to grazing._

_The figures move._

_One in each group tips a small wooden log. It is hollow, and fresh embers glow inside it. Quickly, each hunter tips the inflammable point of their javelins inside it. It takes fire, glowing. As one, they shouts and flings._

_The herd, scared, careens. The matriarch, hit by several burning spears, trumpets. Most of the fires are smothered by the heavy furs, but some take roots. Panicked, the burning animals don’t flee. They roll on the ground, madly trying to extinguish the fire, exposing the tender underbelly. The stone-tipped javelins don’t miss the easy target._

_Soon, the hunt has ended. Two hands of mammoths lay in the prairies, and some more may die at some distance, to be found later. Never before so few hunters have taken so many mammoths._

_The figures cheer, laugh and dance. They are dark and big-boned, their faces flat save for big noses. Some of them have prominent eyebrows. They ready to begin the butchering. But before, they need the First Hunter to take out the heart of the Matriarch, to give it back to Mother Earth._

_They look among them, but there isn’t any slimmer, fairer form. Increasingly frantic, they search among the grasses, but no body is to be found. They search till the sun is touching the horizon, but the person who thought to put the fire on the tip of their weapons is nowhere to be found. He had given the horse’s signal. He had drove down the matriarch. But he is nowhere now. The Hunters gather and whisper among themselves, but find no answer._

_Far away already, having cast away stealth, Flint is running steadily toward the sun. A slim pack is on his shoulders, prepared after he parted with Vanyel. Rations and dry meat, stones and tools to make other tools. Whiteclaw leaps beside him._

_Flint runs toward the sun, and toward his Dhil’a._

 


	5. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated.
> 
>  
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*
> 
>  
> 
> I had been thinking, maybe you would like to have a visual of the clothes Fitz is costantly trying to avoid (save when Beloved is near. Then he dresses up ;P )  
> Here are some chart I use to describe the clothes:
> 
> http://lilsuika.deviantart.com/art/Evolution-of-Vietnamese-Clothing-and-Ao-Dai-287945386
> 
> http://www.deviantart.com/art/1-000-Years-of-Vietnamese-Clothing-300093773
> 
> Everything up to the 19th/20th century is used. A bit of a mish-mash I admit it.
> 
>  
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _

** Chapter Four: Rain **

 

 

_King Thàn Ba Sendàr died in the thirtieth year of White Beloved Second Coming. He was a young man, in his thirty second year of life. He left alive his King Brother, King Xanhà Doi Chihn, his wife, Queen Chundra and his son, Prince Thàn Doi Chien. He died while King Xanhà Doi Chihn was traveling to Behit for the Seventh Year Meditation. He fell from his horse, and broke his neck._

_Some feared that his death would make of Vietmar another Liantharin. But there was a heir of royal blood and the feature of little Prince Chien were so clearly of Clerres that it left no doubt of his parentage. Nobody could suppose that the Daman Vua had fathered a half-blood prince. What is perhaps more, few even among the nobles would dare to face King Chihn and Queen Chundra, for Queen Chundra made clear her commitments to her remaining husband and their child both._

_King Sendàr was, by all account, not a inadequate King. Had he lived in a period of peace, his reign may have been a time of harmony, to recall fondly. But he was fated in living in the hardest time of Clerres' recent history. Nobody was prepared for the Civil War, nor for the Iduyans' invasions. Vietmar bore the blunt of the Iduyans' force after they sliced through Liantharin as a knife slice through tofu, sacking and pillaging as they went. It is in King Sendàr's credit that he recognized in Xanhà Doi Chihn and in his magic a possible solution to a dire problem, and does him honor that he elevated Chihn to the status of King Brother. But it is also what is most to say about him, and few man are happy to be remembered to have recognize greatness in other._

_Note on Clerres' Recent Rules, by Great Trainer Khoang,_

_to be included in a chronicle yet to be written._

 

 

Morning came, but not light. When I woke, curled around Snowcloud, the wind was still battering the wooden walls of our home, but the room was as dark as the night before. I blinked and rose to my feet, going to the window.

The ocean's waves crested and fell over themselves at the base of the cliff. The water, usually so clear that you could see the sandy bottom, was the colour of lead. Such was the hue of the sky above, as well, and ominous cloud circled over us, like vultures over a corpse.

A gust of cold wind made me shiver. I turned my head and watched the Fool enter the house. He was much dressed, with warm, fair garments.

“The Rains are coming.” I told him. He nodded. Snowcloud put her muzzle under her forelegs, covering her eyes with her paws and yipped. I couldn't help but chuckle. She doesn't like the wet season.

We spent the morning preparing for the tempests ahead, for the first rain after the dry time is always the hardest and never is it stronger than in Waitan. Even the Khams hide and bide their time, and trees and houses both can be uprooted, Man and Nature succumbing together to the wild chaos of elements. As I cut more dry wood for the fire, I reflected on the old magics. They said Earth and Air are as enemy as Water and Fire. Never had I believed it, until I saw the air battering the earth during a monsoon, blowing away all under its strength. Then I understood.

I dried my face with my kerchief. It was not raining yet, but the winds had rose so much water from the ocean than it was like walking in a fine mist. The air tasted as salty as the sea below. The Khams believes that the first rain is a moment outside time, when confines are less clear and all merge. Some of the People go to greater length: they say the World is unmade and then created again, like somebody squashing together a figure of wet clay to mold it anew. As I tried without luck to find the horizon, or a clear separation of sky and water, I could see whence that belief came. Then I resumed my work.

We were well stocked. We had smoked meat and fish, durable tubers and vegetables. Dry wood and candles would provide us light and warmth. The house was shielded by the cliff from the worst of the winds. They could come from either land or sea but they couldn't destroy it.

As I cut the wood and piled it neatly close to the hearth, the Fool dashed between our outside paltry and the inside of the house, carrying food. I stopped in my work. The cliff was not an easy place to walk over in the best of moment, but the fine droplets of water made it slippery and the gushes of wind made even me sway. But he jumped from stone to stone undaunted, graceful as a dancer or a tumbler. I watched him, mesmerized.

_Brother mine, if you can stop gawking at your mate, there would be wood to cut._

I glared at Snowcloud, sprawled over the threshold, well off the watery winds. _He is not my mate._

She lolled her tongue at me. _So you say. The wood still needs to be cut._

I decided to ignore her and went on. By midday, we had all the wood and food we needed for several days, and the first drops were falling. We retreated and closed the door. As we made the house warm again, a roar of rain hit the roof. We looked at each other. The monsoon had come.

I went to gather my paper and ink, in silence, the rain provided a counterpoint to my actions. The Fool perched close to the heart, putting a kettle of water to boil. I smiled. The first rain had brought cold, and he had chosen the warmest place of the room. The wind threw water against the shutters, and thunder echoed around us. I lightened one more lamp, and set it to hang from the ceiling.

The memories of what we had talked about the day afore had nagged at me for the whole day. Hard labour is, I have found, a good way to forget. But now I was idle, and I couldn't stop remembering. Oh, I remembered so very clearly the travel to Jhaampe. Molly was not the kind of woman to begrudge her husband such a small request. I left in a mild summer morning, well determined to put many miles of road behind me by sundown. I recall felling jittery like a boy for the unexpected journey ahead. I would travel alone. I had fended many insistent requests from Riddle to get a proper retinue. I prepared and saddled Sooty by myself, humming as I did so. Molly kissed me goodbye on the manor's door.

How can I describe what I saw, without sounding condescending? I loved her as much as I always had. But when I turned on Sooty, to bid her farewell, I noticed the gray in her copper hair. Her body had aged, as well. Yet this is now what bothered me. Her body was as beautiful as ever. As I wished to grow old with her, I had expected such changes. But suddenly I felt how strange it was that I had none of the aches that a life with swords and tools usually brings. I had made use of no Skill to keep myself young. Yet there I was, not looking nor feeling one day beyond thirty five.

But those things were for none, not even my Keppet, to know.

I penned a stroke over the paper, starting an ancient poem and debating with myself. I glanced at Snowcloud. This was as much my story as it was hers, after all. She raised her head from her paws.

_You can tell him, brother mine. We both think better when we share thoughts with him._

I blinked, echoes of similar words waking in me from a long time ago. Then I shrugged them off.

"It was on the road in Farrow that I first heard of it. In a Inn on the shore of the Blue Lake a hunter told of a whole rangale of deer slaughtered and the bodies left to rot. Stag, doves and fawns. Or a farmer would lament the death of a whole flock of sheep, dead and left to the elements. Tall tales, I thought. Or a rabid bear. I gave it no mind. But other such stories multiplied the Northern I went." The Fool had started to brew the tea. His hand stilled at my first words, but he started anew. "Once such accounts would have been laid on the doors of the Witted folks, and spelt doom to them. But Dutiful had been effective in changing the old way. Perhaps in some part of the Six Duchies innocent people are still killed if suspected of having the Wit, but it is now unlawful. This is something." I paused again. "It was not Witted work, though. I was perplexed, but not overly disturbed. I took more care, but came to Jhaampe without incidents." I smiled. "Do you remember Jhaampe?" I asked him.

He looked at me from the heart, perched like a pickies on the stones. "Of course I do." He replied, softly. When his auburn eyes met mine memories sang in our bond. Like words in a foreign language, I could pick a echo of something like despair, and of joy and life beginning anew. I drew a shaky breath. He turned his face toward the fire again.

Snowcloud lolled her tongue at us. Her low-tipped ears moved. She was, too, enjoying the story.

"Your old house is still here. I met Joffron. She asked me of you."

He turned his head sharply, surprise not quite hidden in his features. "She did?"

I smiled. "Yes. I told her what I felt I could. She said she had thought often of you." My smile widened. "She introduced me to her husband and daughter. A lusty, lively girl. They named her Ulai."

As I pronounced the Chyurda word for "Fool", my friend cheek reddened under his pigment. I watched, delighted, for it was a rare sight to see him blush. He casted his glance downward. "They shouldn't have. But I am honored." His soft words carried to me. I smiled again. Then the smile died on my lips and I took a deep breath.

"Jhaampe had not changed. It was as beautiful as the first time I saw it, if not more so. The trees were in bloom when I arrived, and everywhere the Summer blossomed. But King Eyod had. He had became an old man, his yellow hair gone gray. I saw him in his palace, with Cunning standing by him, as once Rusrik had. The child had thrived, or so it seemed. He was still slender, but he had colour on his face, and there weren't shadows under his eyes. He was dressed in the colourful Mountain's garb. He looked as any other youngling on the place, with long blonde hair and simple clothes. And, if the way he looked at his grandfather had any meaning, he had learnt to love the Sacrifice." I sipped the tea, lost in memory. "Chade was there as well. The old spider hadn't aged a year since you left."

He nodded. "The Skill."

I nodded back. "Of course. I was happy to see him, as well. He had made a home for himself in the Mountain way, in the outskirt of Jhaampe, between a mountain and a cliff. I thought it odd at first, but he had always cherished his solitude. I went to eat with him the day after my arrival. We chatted of old time, and I was surprised when he didn't speak once of the Six Duchies, nor of politics and intrigues. I left well pleased, thinking he was truly happy in leaving what had been his old life behind." I paused. "Did I already mention I was a fool?"

The Fool smiled ruefully at me, hugging his long legs to his chest, knees tucked under his of chin. "I seem to recall so, yes. I wager it was not true?" He cocked his head to one side. I sighed. A thunder gave me an excuse to stop my story. I looked down at my hand, clasping the wooden bowl full of tea. I contemplated how similar the shades of tea and wood were. Then I sighed.

“The ceremony went well. The various tribes of the Mountain Kingdom came to see their future Sacrifice. I learnt that Cunning was well known by them already, and most loved the young boy.” I sipped the tea, remembering the hall so full of different gents and people, the smell of sweet leaves burning and the taste of the mountain's fare. Chade was there, as well. I couldn't speak more than a word with the young future Duke, but every time I moved, I could feel his eyes on me. It made me nervous, and I told myself how foolish it was, to be so unnerved by a boy's curiosity.

The next day Cunning went to a solitary retirement, as Dutiful used to do. The boy left alone, with a hardy pony, some arrows and a bow to hunt with. Nothing could harm him in his mountains. His people watched him go with pride. I could perceive their satisfaction in him. I looked around, and was glad that the runt of the litter had found such a good pack for himself.

I also tried to resist the urge to go on the Skill Road.

Molly was waiting for me, I told myself. I had no time to go so far. But I could explore Jhaampe some more, couldn't I? Yet I found myself, at the afternoon of the day after the ceremony, on a path. I stopped and looked at it. I knew where it led. Just some steps wouldn't hurt, I thought. And I didn't have anything with me, save my knife and a flask of water. It wouldn't be wise. My feet were moving. I stopped in my tracks and clenched my jaw. No, I wouldn't go. I would just go a little. I only wanted to see my king once more. I thought of Verity-as-Dragon, and a sharp pang of loss surprised me.

In the end, I compromised with myself. I decided to go just as far as I could go in a day, and I would be back in the morning after. The idea of sleeping under the star once more invigorated me.  I started to walk. Great trees towered above me. Most of the trees were evergreens, a kind found only there that I knew of. They made a perpetual twilight of the bright Summer day light. There was little underbrush to struggle with; most of the scenery was of the staggered ranks of immense trunks and a few low-swooping branches. For the most part, the live branches of the trees began far over my head. From time to time, I passed patches of smaller deciduous trees that had sprung up in patches of open forest made by a great tree’s demise. Every branches was in blossom with pink and white flowers. Some evergreen left a fine yellow powder that turned the very path golden. As I walked, I found a sense of peace I hadn't known in a long time. I was free, and happy. Yet a nagging sense of guilt didn't leave me. I would tell Molly all about it, I decided. And stopped thinking of her.

The day was glorious, all the beauty of Summer unfurling around me. I laughed out loud when a little hare jumped on the path, looked at me with huge eyes and looped away. I duck in my flask from time to time. I met none. In retrospect, that should have warned me. The afternoon passed pleasantly, but the days of Summer are deceptive in their duration, so long that a man can easily walk twelve hours and not notice, so I stopped on the path, and looked around, wondering where to camp and what to eat. I could hear the chiming sound  of water.  I decided to walk some more, to find the creek I heard and have it as my campsite.

As I parted some branches, the stench of death assaulted me.

I almost retched. It was unexpected. I don't know why I followed the smell, but I did. Perhaps I wanted to asses a risk, to see if it was a good place to rest. Or perhaps it was just morbid curiosity. Nonetheless, I found the place.

It was a clearing, close to the stream. It would have made a good place to rest. Save for the carcass laying around. There were four of them. Five wild swines, the haggars so common in the mountain. Three piglets, and two hogs. Their white fangs, upturned, were unblemished. Neither they nor the animal's fame of ferocity had done the swines any good in their fight against what killed them. For killed they had been: long gashes opened in their flanks, and the smell of their guts as the maggots feasted on them soiled the pure Summer evening. I watched, rooted on my spot. I had heard of it during my travel, but I hadn't believe there was any truth in it. For why would any creature kill and leave the kill alone? Men and beasts alike sometimes kill for more than food. But four of them, and healthy beside, lest in the ground to rot?

I was so shocked, that for a moment I didn't noticed the only other living creature in the clearing. Then I rose my eyes, and saw her.

She was sitting in the other side of the glade, her tail over her paws. She was so startling white under the graying landscape, that I thought her a vision. Then I blinked and met her eyes.

“At first I thought her a dog, because wolves are almost never white, and she didn't have wolves' ears. But there was much of wolf in her.” As I spoke to the Fool, I turned my head toward Snowcloud. Her tail was wagging steadily, thumping against the floor as she sat at my side. She nuzzled my hand to be petted, and I smiled. I breathed in and took a swing of tea. My companion calm acceptance and unconditional love flooded me, like the rain outside drenched the thirsty earth. I breathed, and smiled again. Then I felt it. Something different in our bond, a sliver of emotion like a beam of light, familiar but not ours. We both turned to the Fool. He watched us, perched at the heart, his knees up his chest. I went on with my tale.

"She looked at me, then turned and leaped once. But instead of running away, she cocked her head at me. I knew I wanted her to follow me, so I hesitated."

_Nobody could tell I wasn't warned from the beginning of your slowness, brother mine. But well. I love you anyway, oh my sloth._

Snowcloud had to have spoke to both the Fool and me, because he burst out laughing. I glared at both, with a nagging feel of amused foreboding. I feared mockery at me would become a shared habit of them. I couldn't quite hide my smile at the thought. It eased my heart from the tale I had to tell.

It hadn't been a long journey, but it was an hazardous one. I didn't know the terrain, and the white wolf paid no heed to my comfort in choosing trail. Now, thinking back, it seemed strange we didn't even try to talk to each other through the Wit. Yet our first meeting was silent.

In the end, Snowcloud brought me at the foot of a cliff. As I walked, a sense of horror crept in me, rising steadily with every step I took. Corpse-eating bugs swarmed everywhere, their colours almost obscenely bright. Bones crunched under my feet as I walked and every step dislodged shiny creatures from their fleshy houses. Morbidly, I watched a bear skull with roots out of its eye sockets. I spied a oak sapling rising its green leaves, seeded inside the putrescent innards of a deer. A bigger holm, so straight it would make a good helm for a ship, whose roots played in and out the ribcage of a mule. The trees were bigger and healthier than the one I had passed before, feed, like the insects, from the blood and flesh of living creatures.

The place lived on death.

Yet there were signs of destruction, as well. Uprooted trees. Branches and roots snapped. Deep claw marks inside wood or stone. Why would a bear try its claws against rocks? It would do it no good. All of this was strange, for wild animals wouldn't uproot a tree without eating the root, and rarely destroy without reasons, save when gravely ill. Yet the signs I saw pointed at a mindless destruction.

The stench was so strong, I wetted my kerchief and put it over my mouth. Then I trudged on. The bottom of the cliff got narrower and narrower as I walked. I had lost sight of my silent guide, though I knew her near. Then, I saw her.

She sat again, close to what for a second I thought only one more carcass on the ground, before my Wit alerted me of the life still residing within. I knelt in the rich ground and took the animal head in my hand. It has the big body of a horse, and the long ears of a donkey. A mule. Maggots were already feasting in his mouth and ears, his closed eyes weeping pus, but the beast trembled as I touched him and something in me trembled with him. Its legs were broken, and so was his back. I looked briefly up. Yes. There was something like the outlining of a house up in the cliff. He had fallen there. I looked at the white wolf and she looked back at me with an unnerving gaze.

_Not fell. Thrown._

I jumped at her careful words. It is rare, so very rare, for an not-bonded animal to convey its thoughts to well and clearly. And somehow, I knew she was unbound. She curved her bushy white tail over her paws and waited, in silence. There was something she wanted me to do. Reluctantly, I watched once more the poor, destroyed body of the mule. Dark was approaching, and the last rays shed little light in the bottom of that accursed crag.

The dark helped me to see. I spotted it.

The maggots and flies and bugs moved over his still living body, but the festering of pest avoided some patch of his skin. In the dimming light, something where the bugs didn't move seemed to glow feebly. I parted the long fur of the mule slowly and watched dumbfounded. I had seen such but once, and that would be the last place I expected to see it again, for the first time I watched it on the hands of my King and of Kestrel, when they were carving their dragon.

There, on that dying mule skin had been etched marks with the water of the Skill-River.

I stopped my tale at the Fool's gasps. He looked at me with dark eyes, huge for a second. Then his usual calm veiled his features again. He clasped his hands and said nothing. The wind howled outside. I took a breath and resumed my tale.

"It was full dark, but I couldn't rest there. I... took the poor mule out of his misery. And then I went back, tripping over roots and bones. This had not been the work of one day, or month. Whoever had done it, had worked for years and years. My white guide came with me. As I stumbled toward the road she took a steeper path and turned toward me. Even in the faint light of the gibbous moon, I could see her white mane so very clearly. She reminded me of you, as you had been." I added, and smiled ruefully. He looked at me fondly, and waited. "I knew what she wanted. For me to go up, to face whoever had done such a slaughter. I knew I couldn't do it. Yet I went. I feared who lived in this house. I feared even more who my heart was telling me I would find."

I closed my eyes and clutched the bowl. I could still see the clear summer night, the silent path in the forest. I gulped down a mouthful of tea, to wash away the stench of death.

"I had to almost climb the last part of the trail. As I rose on my elbows above the rift, I saw the house standing over the cliff. As I watched it, I felt my heart fell back whence I had came, plummeting in the gully. I had been in that house, not long before. I think you know whose house it was. Chade's." I sipped my tea, my throat parched. Snowcloud went to lap at her water bowl. The Fool followed her with his eyes, and waited. He could always listen better than anybody else I had ever known.

"I sat, feeling empty inside. It was his doing. And his reason to leave." I shook my head, disparaging. "How could I have thought he would abandon his desire for knowledge, and the power it brings? I was as foolish as I had ever been, no, even stupider, for the gullibility of a boy is fatuousness in a man." I sighed. "The house was dark and silent. Too dark and silent, I realized. The old spider must not have been at home. I think this gave me heart, that I could come inside without facing him. Snowcloud came to my side, and we went in, together."

I recalled the screech as the door opened, a trick of Chade to warn him of visitors. I didn't bother with the first room. I had already been there, with Chade himself. We had talked and ate, and I knew not of the horror in his backyard. I took a lamp and lightened it. With it, I explored the doors. There were two of them. One in the rear and one at the left. Snowcloud walked to the second one, silent as the wind, and stopped there, looking at me. I aimed the light at the door, and examined it. These were habits of mind I thought I had discarded. Ways of thinking, taught to me painstakingly by a skilled mentor in the hours between dusk and dawn during the years of my youth. As my eyes swept the door, I saw the place where the planks didn't quite met. I noticed how something shone when I moved the lamp. My eyes followed both trails till they met at the doorframe. All this I did without thought, and in less time than it took to talk of it. I was both astonished and pleased, in a horrified way, at how swiftly my mind leapt from point to point, until I suddenly looked down on the place where the small, poisoned blade would spring to wound and kill the unwary. I posed myself far away, and, with a chair, made the trap spring. The long, blue knife edged itself in the other place of the door. I don't know why I wedged it out, nor why I put it with care at my belt. I searched for another trap, and smiled ruefully at the dense poison coating the handle. Dense enough to pass through most glove, I wagered. Old Chade, always careful. Again, I used the chair to open the door.

This one opened without a sound. I waited, letting the light of the lamp illuminated the inside.

The she-wolf growled. And I felt my breath die in me.

I stopped my tale and closed my eyes.

How could I tell the Fool what I saw? The room was big, as big as the whole house in front, wide more than deep. It was something between Chade's old room in the tower and a stable, or a kennel, for there were lines upon lines of empty cages, and place to tie horses or mules. I was suddenly remembered of the lizards he would keep in his hidden place in Buckkeep, to test his poisons. He had always been so.

A Shelf held bottles and jugs, carefully corked, and meticulous journals. I skimmed them. They all were in one or another of Chade's ciphers, but I knew enough of them and of him to make some sense of it. They spoke of an attempt to tame the Skill-River, and his try with animals to learn how to use it best. The journal fell from my hands. Next to them, the smoked bottles shone darkly in the oily light of the lamp. I tried not to look at them, knowing all too well what it was that filled them. Yet my hand reached for one, like in trance. I remembered the endless pleasure I had vicariously felt when bonded with Verity as my King dipped his hands in the Skill-River. Just to see if it was what I thought, I told myself. Just to see.

A crash jolted me, and I spurred around. The she-wolf had upturned a table, and the small, empty cages had tumbled down it. She growled at me.

_It won't do you any good. Leave it._

I blinked and was about to retort when something caught my eyes. A living drowned kitten, his coat sleeked flat with the water. He sprawled over the table, and a trick of the lamplight made it seems as water streamed from his tail and paws and dribbling from his nose. He was striped orange and white. I blinked, and the dread I had barely kept at bay choked me. I took a step toward the kitten. No. Let it not be so, I prayed. Let it not be as it is. I watched my hand touch the little form. My fingers met cold dead stone.

Memory stone.

My lips moved, but no sounds emerged. My mouth felt like it was filled with a nauseating paste. I chewed through it, searching for hair as the complete horror of my former mentor acts crashed upon me.

Then I exhaled a chocking word, and with dread I felt a stirring of life, a life I thought extinguished years before.

"Thick"

 


	6. Lightening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated.
> 
> This is the longest chapter to date o.O 
> 
>  
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks to Noam, too, for his comments <3 So kind of him!
> 
>  
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u

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** Chapter Five: Lightening **

 

 

_In a time long past, after Man had learnt how to cultivate the field, but before it had learnt how to make the soil fertile year after year, the people of Clerres wandered from place to place, like the barbarian Iduyans still do._

_Such was their way of life. They had no cities, only villages that waxed and waned like the moon. White Prophets traveled, too, to give his wisdom to the people. But at that time, there were no roads, only trails made by people and animals as they passed through the plains._

_In a village between the hills between what are now Behit and Liantharin, where the Little Heise meet the Great Heise there was a young man named Thrang. He was a good farmer, and a strong hunter. He was a dutiful son and brother, and took care of his mother and his sisters. But more than anything else, Thrang wanted to see the White Prophet. It was a burning, the desire to know the Future and to help to create the World as it should be. But he was an obedient young man, so he stayed with his family. But image his happiness when he learnt that the White Prophet himself would come in his little village!_

_Overjoyed, Thrang decided to go down the hills, on the trail the Prophet would have to use. It was spring, and it had rained heavily. The path was so muddy it almost tore Thrang's sandals from his feet. Thrang looked at it, and thought the White Prophet shouldn't get covered in mud. Close by there was the Little Heise, and on its banks the long, flat stones that people in Behit and Liantharin still use to construct their houses._

_So Thrang began his labour._

_All the night the young man walked between the river's bank and the trail, first carrying, then trailing the heavy slabs of rock, then laying them on the ground. The night seemed endless, and so his exertion. Slabs upon slabs he trailed on, paving the path from the river's ford to his village, so that the White Prophet could travel with ease._

_The next morning the village's dwellers saw Thrang's work, and marveled at it, for no one had ever seen a paved road before. But some looked around, wondering where Thrang was. For surely, as he was the one who most wanted to see the White Prophet, he would be here, wouldn't he? But Thrang was nowhere to be seen. The Head of the Village decided to ask it to the White who was coming, for it was certainly not a case that the young man had vanished just when the White Prophet was to come and when this strange thing on the ground had appeared._

_So White Seto came, and passed the ford, and smiled at the road. All the village, men, women and children, watched the young White in mute stupor. White Seto, graceful as wind upon flowers, stayed still on the last stone of the ford, and watched the people with infinite wisdom in his colourless eyes._

_Then the Head of the village gathered his courage, and spoke:_

_"Your Wisdom, I beg ye, hath ye seeth a young man of our village?"_

_At this words, White Seto eyes clouded like a summer morning would cloud when the rain is approaching. He jumped on the ground, slender and graceful, and walked toward a big boulder, left on the ground by the river long before. The village followed him, in silence._

_And beyond the rock there was Thrang. His face was calm, his eyes closed and his head cocked like in sleep, but he was dead. In his hand there was still another slab of rock he had been trailing for the road, for his White Prophet._

_White Seto looked at Thrang, and cleaned with his white hand the mud from his forehead, and then he turned toward the villagers and said, with a voice as strong and clear as the rain._

_"Thran is dead, but his deed lives. From now on, every village shall make what he had done."_

_And, because all soon heard of the young man act, and all wanted to imitate him, so as the White Prophet spake, so 'twas. And so it is, to this day_

_"The First White Road"_

_White Tales for Children_

 

Silence stretched between us. I couldn't speak, my throat so constricted that breathing was an effort. I hung my head and stared at the cold tea. The only sound was the heavy rain outside, hammering the house from all side, and the endless howling of the wind. The eyes of the Fool were round and huge. He had made a sharp intake of breath at my words, and a spasm had contracted his feature. Neither of us said nothing more for a time. Snowcloud whined and put her head over my knee, nudging my hand with her muzzle. I scowled her.

_You'll spill the tea, sister._

She gave a little yap. _I care not. Pet me._ I couldn't help but smile, in spite of the pain. She nosed at me some more, and I couldn't keep the cup steady. The tea splashed over the table.

 _You sound like a cat._ I teased her. She looked at me with the purest indignation in her blue eyes, rose her head grandly and daintily pawed toward the heart, ears and tail rose in quivering indignation. I couldn't help. In spite of painful memories and of lost friends, I burst out laughing. And so, to my surprise, did the Fool. Only then I realized he had heard us. I regarded him, surprise myself. Snowcloud was right. He was improving in the Wit, if strangely and at his own pace. My bond companion flickered one low-tipped ear at me, without turning from the fire.

_I am always right. You should have learnt that already, brother mine._

The Fool smiled ruefully again and turned toward me, rising from the heart with a kettle full of new, hot tea in his hand. I gratefully held my empty cup to him. He refilled it with the dark, warm liquid. "Has she always been so?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow and setting the kettle on the table. A napkin appeared, one of his sleight of hand. I smiled at him, then I sighed. "Indeed." I glanced at Snowcloud, busily ignoring us, and a smile spread over my lips. I sent her my love, and a warmth flood of care and amusement answered me. I smiled more and rose my eyes to the Fool again. My vision wavered, and for a second I saw the impish child jester of my youth, white and with hair as airy as dandelion fluff. Then I blinked, and he was there, skin the colour of fine walnut wood, and hair sleeker than the mane of the best horse of Buckkeep. He sat down again at the heart, folding himself up, knees nearly to his ears, chin cupped in his long-fingered hands. The pose was as familiar as the person, and a wave of warmth spread into me. My Fool blinked rapidly and frowned, then glanced at me, before averting his gaze, his colour darkening. I frowned. Perhaps he was too close to the fire.

"It was Chade's work, wasn't it?" He asked, quietly, looking still in the fire. I gripped the cup and nodded.

"Yes. I don't know how, but done it he did." I sipped the tea and sighed. "I took the kitten in my arms. It was cold, and it didn't stir. I tried to contact Thick inside, with Skill and Wit, but..." My voice died in me, remembering another such attempts, so long ago, when I tried to wake my King. But, as I had not find him, I did not find Thick. I set my hands flat to his cold, small body of stone, pressed my brow against the hard, round belly, and reached again, recklessly. I sense him then, but it was a far and thin glimpse of what he had been.

"I put the stone kitten into my sash. I... I couldn't leave it here. Him." I told the Fool. He nodded, perched at the heart stone, not looking at me. I continued my tale. "As I handled the stone-kitten, the white she-wolf sat with her tail tidily over her forepaws. But as she saw me binding it in my kerchief, she went to a small door, not unlike the one of a closet. In the darkness, lit only by the lamp, I had at first overlooked it. She scratched it. I turned the lamp to the small door, and studied it." I sipped the tea its warmth steadying against the coldness of the memory. "It didn't seem to hold any danger. With care, I opened it." I took a deep breath. "It was indeed a closet. And into the closet there was a Skill-Pillar."

For the second time the Fool gaped looking at me. Again, silence stretched between us. Snowcloud yawned, and sprawled in front of the fire, relinquishing her disdainful pose.

 _You are an awful storyteller brother mine._ Her mind voice was teasing as she spoke to me.

 _Hush_. I shushed her.

"I don't believe you would be eager to use a Skill-Pillar." The Fool commented, at long last. I sighed again, brought back to my tale.

"No, I wasn't. But I knew I had to know what the old spider was doing. And why he was doing it." Again, I blinked. Memories were still hazy, like events seen through a deep mist. Talking dissipated the fog. I was not sure I wished for it to happen. Pain already laced through me, like a giant spider web, trapping me in its wake.

I stood in front of the pillar, I do not know how long. The night was warmth, but I felt iced inside. I had no wish to enter it. There was something more than the knowledge I had been trapped into one of those. Sailors claim that, in the lands between Clerres and the Away Kingdom, sometimes ships are lost to creature neither women nor animals, who sings song of beauty to make ships crash on unforgiving rocks. This may well be true, for I know that the Others sometimes attract people to devour them. Such was the call of the Skill-Pillar to me, but it was not the Skill that sang. Rather, it was like the feel of the Wheel of Time, that I felt when I put on my own brow the Rooster Crown instead that crowing my Fool. I knew not what would be of me if I went into the Pillar, but I knew all would change. Almost I left. But for the first time in many years, alone in the dark night, in front of the pillar, I remembered the Fool. Oh, I had thought of him often in the time between, but in the haphazard fashion one could remember a friend long gone. Now I recalled him clearly as I had left him but the day before and I felt an odd sensation, like pain dulled by herbs, squeezing my soul. It was and was not pain, and more strange than injury. It was to make it stop that I took a step and touched the Skill-Pillar.

Traveling the Skill-Pillar is never pleasant, to put it mildly, and neither it was this time. That much I can remember, but nothing more. I remember my hand in the lamplight, pale over the black stone. I remember stumbling out of another Pillar, faltering and falling, my hands too clumsy to cushion my fall, my head swimming and an unuttered scream burning in my throat. But nothing else. Yet, as I scrambled on my hands and knees in the stone floor of a stranger house, my chest heaving, I couldn't help but remember an old game of the first days of my assassin training. Then, Chade had used to give me small wooden boxes. Those clever constructions would only open if manipulated in the correct way, revealing sweets and trinkets, the kind that amuse young boys. But more than whatever prize Chade had put inside, I had always cherished the sound they made once the right combination was unhearted. The little click that showed I had done well. That day, as I fought for my breath, weeping without knowing why, I felt like I had been one of those boxes, and my pieces had been put right. Something clicked inside me, whatever given back from the Pillar, or what inhabits them, or by it or them arranged correctly, I still can't say.

Before I could rise on my feet, an hand was on my shoulder. I jerked my head back, ready to fight even as I still trembled, but the voice stopped me in my movement.

"Well, boy. I should have known you would have found out."

As my eyes cleared, I could see Chade. His green eyes looked at me with sorrow and a strange fort of pride. He held his hand to help me on my feet. I took it. I knew not what to say, so I stayed silent.

Time must have passed as I was inside the Pillar, for it was almost dawn. The room was not quite a mirror of the one I had been before, a large one, with tables and benches, but no cages. A big window showed the mountains, just outlined by the first ray of the sun. A door opened on another, more roomy, space. All was bare, not a carpet on the ground or a picture on the walls. I watched this all, not to look at Chade.

"Why, Chade?" The words were out of me before I could check them. In the silence, they sounded deafening.

The old man sighed, and in the sound I could hear all of his years. He shook his head, and gestured at me to follow him. I don't know why, but I did so. The habits of many years are hard to shake.

The second room was more open. A colourful rug on the stone floor mitigated the coldness of the earth. In the heart, a fire danced, lending colour to the walls. A kettle warmed by it. Chade took it and went to a pastry, to make tea, his back to me. He didn't say a word, and neither did I. I watched him. He must have been close to eighty or ninety years, but he didn't show it. As I watched him, he started to speak.

"You ask why, boy? Because of you."

I almost jumped. My jaw clenched. So like the old spider, to bind words to make me responsible. Still working on the tea, he snorted.

"I can almost see your face. Stop grinding your teeth, boy." He turned, a tray with two cup of tea in his hands, the two cups full of hot tea. He gestured toward a chair with his head. I sat, slowly. He looked at me and sighed. "Do you know what happened in the last years, boy? Aside from how the weather for the crops was in your little valley." His words stung me. I glared at him.

"I have retreated, Chade. You may wish to keep yourself amidst intrigues and threat, but I do not. I had done enough for the Six Duchies. Dutiful is King. And I wish to rest." I said, and then marveled that I felt any need to defend myself, given the circumstances. Chade was as sly as ever. He took one of the cups and held it in his time-stained hands.

"You can rest when you are dead, boy. Not before." He retorted. "Allow me to tell you what Dutiful is too kind hearted to say. Some years ago, the Dragons attacked Calched and killed its Duke." My shook must have been plain for him to see, because he smiled pleasantly and sipped his tea. Then he looked up again, his green eyes meeting mine without hesitation. He asked no questions, he made no demands. All he had to do was wait. I lowered my eyes, ice taking roots in me. My lips were parched. Because, for all that the Duke of Calched had been, for what little I had known, not much of a better ruler than Regal, he had been the sovereign of Calched. If the dragons could come from the sky, and kill a monarch simply because they liked it, then what kingdom of men was safe? What if Dutiful, or Prosper, or some future King or Queen of the Seven Duchies displeased them? My head swam. Blindly, I reached out for the tea. The warmth of the cup heartened me. I rose my eyes again, but before I could retort, with what, I don't know, he spoke again.

"Also, dragons have proved true to the stories speaking of their treachery and dishonesty. Tintaglia didn't keep her words with Bingtown. So, they can do as they please. They aren't bound by our laws, and we had no weapons against them." His words were soft and pleasant, oh so pleasant. Goosebumps rose on my flesh. My mouth was parched and my heart beat wildly. I felt cold and clammy. What had I unleashed in the World? To buy time, I brought the cup to my lips.

_DON'T DRINK IT!_

The mental words were so strong to knock the cup out of my hand. The white she-wolf jumped out of the door I had passed little time ago. Her hackle was raised, as her lips to show her teeth. She growled, a low, steady sound. Chade blinked his eyes in surprise and his hand went to the knife at his belt. I was sure for it to be poisoned. From the look in his eyes, I knew it wasn't the first of their meeting. Comprehension dawned in me.

"You have used her. And many other animals." I said, aloud. Chade made a strange sound, like a puff of air, not taking his eyes away from the she-wolf.

"Like I used lizards to test poisons, boy." He snorted again. "I should have known you would have found her." Something in the way he said it ringed in my mind. I watched the strange she-wolf. No, not a wolf. Hybrid. I had heard of bitches running away to mate with wolves, though none in Buckkeep since I had been there. The pups were usually too hard to train, and other dogs wanted nothing to do with them, so they weren't often allowed to live. I watched the wolf-dog, then the puddle of tea on the floor. I dipped my finger in it and brought it to my lips. A faint bitter taste made me close my eyes.

"Oh, Chade." I whispered. I still find odd, to think at what I felt then. Not betrayal, nor pain. Only an endless, dull sadness.

In that moment, the wolf-dog attacked.

She aimed for Chade's throat, but the knife of the old assassin found her flank. She whined with pain, but she toppled over the old man, crushing him under her weight. Without thinking, I extracted the only weapon I had, the blade I had took from Chade's own trap, and flung it.

I don't know to whom I aimed at, if I was aiming at somebody at all. I wasn't thinking, and this is a grievous mistake for any who wields a weapon. But the blade found the shoulder of Chade as he had rose his arms to keep the wolf-dog's jaws away from his throat. I saw the blade sink into his flesh and pain flared inside me, worse than if it would have been my own flesh to have been hurt. I closed my eyes, denying it sight. Futile. It was always futile.

The wolf-dog whined again and stumbled away from my old mentor, staggering and falling under the poison. Chade sat, gasping for air, and looked dully at the blade. He smiled a terrible smile, recognizing it for his own. I sank to my knees at his side, then sprung up again, like a puppet. I ran to the pastry whence he took the poison he wanted to give me. The antidote. The old spider wouldn't have keep a poisoned trap without having the antidote nearby. Where was it? In my clumsiness, I knocked out jars and pots, spilling and mixing the contents. The sounds rattled in the old house.

"Boy."

The voice was soft. I froze and hiccupped. I felt my back flexing. But I couldn't turn and face him. Even knowing he had wanted to poison me. It didn't matter. Because in his voice I knew I had killed him.

"Boy, come here."

I did, turning and stumbling to him like I had once stumbled to follow him in the darkness of the hidden stair in my ancient room. Then I knew a flash of desperation, a terrible longing for a time when a small boy had followed a strange stranger up to a flight of stair into a new World. I longed for that boy, for his curiosity and naiveté. I longed for a time that was no more.

I knelt again at my old mentor side, my knees hitting the rock floor with a thud. It hurt. I didn't care. I watched with eyes full of tears the man I had loved like a father, who had accepted me first of all. His scarred face showed the sign of the poison already, his lips tinged a faint blue. He rose the uninjured arm and put the hand over mine.

"Well, boy. So it ends."

I sobbed. "Chade, Chade... I..."

He shook his head, with all the fondness of the old at the antic of the young. "No time, boy. Listen to me. I have one thing to ask you. One, for the sake of your old mentor. One, if I have done something good to you. Would you grant it to me?"

The room was lightening up. Dawn had come, and the sun was rising up the mountains. How could the sun rise? I couldn't speak, but I nodded. I took a deep, shuddering breath, and found my voice.

"Yes. I... Yes." I swore to him, not even asking why. I would have done everything he would ask me, just then. How couldn't I?

He sighed and nodded. "Good. First, I have to tell you... Your mother. She lives." The shook must have been evident in my features. He smiled a smile more of a grimace. "I searched for her. I kept waiting. I thought, for sure he would come to ask for her, and I would have been able to tell him. But you didn't come. Keppet, your mother lives." Keppet. Ancient memories danced into my mind. My name. My childhood name. I ruthlessly squashed them down. Not then.

"Now... The thing I have to ask of you. Take her. Grow her up well. And teach her the Skill." I blinked and looked at the graying face of my old mentor. I had put my arm behind his shoulder, and his old grey head rested on my chest. He cradled his injured arm close to him, and for a moment he looked so frail and so old, he who had once been my conscience. I wanted to ask, who was the person I had to take? But there was no time to lose in foolish questions. Chade looked up at me, and added, feebly.

"The wolf-dog... She is of your wolf, I think. I took her out of one of your old neighbour. Baylor. At first, I thought of making of her a gift for you but then... I needed hybrids." He breathed out and his slim body shook against mine. I held him closer, and desperately quested toward him with any Skill I could muster. It was like hitting a wall. I couldn't even pass his shields. I stood, dumbfounded for a second. He smiled again, crookedly. "No use, Keppet. I... the poison, it has water of the Skill-River. Silver, the ancient Elderlings called it. It... is not possible to..." His green eyes lost focus, and I thought that it would be the moment, and an ocean of pain swelled inside me. Then he opened his eyes again, their green so piercing in the first morning light. A day begins and a life ends, I remember to have thought. What an odd thought, for such a moment.

"You can... stop killing, Keppet. But you can't stop... being an assassin. Forgive... Forgive me."

I waited, but no more words came. I felt the life that had been Chade Fallstar waver and ebb. I watched him. His eyelids fluttered once more. Then he stood still. In that moment, the sun pierced beyond the mountain, and illuminated the room. The body of my old mentor still in my arm, I rose my head, and my eyes widened. For a faint wail, the weeping of a baby, had broken the silence.

I wanted to stand still, to wait for the worst of the pain to pass, but the wailing became more pressing. So I laid the body of my mentor back on the rug, and rose. I walked in the sunlight house. It was bigger than the one on the cliff, and richer besides. Carpets and tapestries covered the floors and the walls. Lamps and candleholders provided light. I opened a door of light wood, and stood in the nursery.

The room was bright and full of light. A carpet in soft colours covered the ground. I walked between soft dolls and cubes and toy balls. A rich wooden cradle sat in the center, a glistening glass toy hung over it. I peered over. Seeing my face, the infant stopped its screaming and looked at me. Eyes as green as the ones now closed forever studied me with the intensity of the very young. Small hands like pink flowers floundered in my direction. I had no experience with babies. This one looked less than one year of age, but not much less. It was wrapped in silken baby clothes, and the hair on its head were curled and light brown. On its tiny chest there was a locket, with a crest. A single, curved line, with a star in the end. I stared at it, for it never occurred to me that Chade could have a crest. He was a bastard, wasn't he? But so was I, and I used to have it. I reached to it, and turned it around. On the rear there were two words, engraved. Chyne Fallstar.

Chyne still has that locket, though I have never seen her don it.

I breathed in. I blinked and my tears fell into the cradle. I hadn't realize I had been weeping. The baby moved her hands some more, and started to whisper anew. I swallowed my tears and took her in my hands. She seemed so tiny. I put her against my chest, as I had done with his father, and sent to find somewhere in the house food for her.

Life has more need than death, I have found. I may have wished to give my final farewell to my old mentor, but first I had to locate food for the child, and feed her. There was no sign of anybody else in the whole house. Not servants, nor the child's mother. In the end I found some fresh goat milk in the kitchen, and the baby stopped wailing at me. The silence sounded deafening. I went outside and prepared the pyre as Chyne napped. I had thought to burn the body of the she-wolf dog as well, but I found her still alive. Either Chade's knife was not poisoned after all, or whatever he had done to her had helped her fight it off.

I burnt Chade's body in the clean morning of the mountains. I cut my hair and threw them in the pyre. I did the same with the baby hair, careful not to harm her. Then I stood, and, with his daughter in my arms, I watched the body of my old friend burn, and grieved. The wolf-dog staggered out, and watched me as I wept.

I stayed for the day in the house. It was, I discovered, in a small hamlet, a valley not far from a village. The people there were not Chyurda, but of another kin. Their hair were red as flames, and their eyes green or blue. There, few people knew of Chade, and nobody of Chyne, nor of the girl's mother. In the house I found no paper to give me an hint of the other half of Chade's daughter parentage, but in a neat volume I found the name and the location of my own mother. I set it aside. The wolf-dog showed great interest in the baby. At first, I was wary of letting her too close to the infant, for wolves and dogs both attack the younger. But she never attempted to give her any harm, and the baby wailed less when the wolf dog was around to play with her. So, I let them play together, even if never where I couldn't see them.

I bought a horse, enough food for the baby, for the wolf-dog and for me, and asked for the road to Jhaampe. Two days after I killed Chade, I was on the road, with an infant and a she-wolf. I was not well. If a man does not die of a wound, then it heals in some fashion, and so it is with loss. From the sharp pain of immediate bereavement, I passed into the gray days of numb bewilderment and waiting. So grief has always seemed to me, a time of waiting not for the hurt to pass, but to become accustomed to it

The wolf-dog helped. She was a talkative one, and had a wry humor that reminded me of the Fool more than of anybody else. She never spoke to me about her reason to hate Chade, but I could guess. I didn't question her presence. At first, I think, she was more interested in Chyne than in me, because I learnt she liked all sort of young animals. But there were many days on the road between Chade's hidden house and Jhaampe. We were almost alone, though we on occasion met other group of pilgrims traveling to see their Sacrifice, or back to their houses. Now, thinking back, I marveled at how it never dawned on me that we were bonding. I never wondered why she followed me. Perhaps because the grief over Chade was so strong it choked me at sometime, when I gazed at Chyne's green eyes. Or because I had, for the first time of my life, an infant to take care for.

The travel was long, because before coming back to Jhaampe, I had an errand to do. I followed the Skill-Road to the stone-dragon garden. How strange, to make in summer the path I had made in winter, so many years before. But even encumbered with a baby, I went on. There was one last thing to do for a pack mate. The she-wolf showed no compulsion on traveling over the Skill-Road, and I wondered if she had used the Skill-Pillar to reach me in Chade's house. I didn't ask. In the end, perhaps six week after I left Chade's house, I reached the Stone Garden.

The forest had reclaimed what the flight of the Stone Dragons had destroyed, so long ago, and now they rested in shade again. I walked amongst them, and as before, I felt the ghostly stir of Wit-life within the deeply slumbering statues. They were all there: the boar dragon, the winged cat, all the widely divergent forms carved by both Elderlings and Skill coteries. I watched Girl-On-A-Dragon. Realdar's dragon, my mind insisted. I passed on. Then, I found what I had been searching. The deep turquoise of Verity-as-a-dragon. I carefully took the stone-kitten and put it between the stone dragon massive paws. For a moment, nothing happened. Then I felt a stirring of life, and then both the dragon and the kitten moved. Under my wondering eyes, Verity-as-a-dragon put his stone forearm around the kitten, and the kitten itself curled between them. For a second, I perceived dimly of something happening among stones, something beyond my comprehension. Then the stone dragon and the stone kitten went back to their endless sleep. I wept. Not with pain, but with relief. I thought about Verity, my King, and Kestrel and Gull, and how now Thick would be with them, forever. I felt a deep sense of rightness then, of a grievous act made right. For the first time since Chade's death, I smiled.

Then I turned my back to the stone dragons, and went back to the road.

The she-wolf stayed with me. I had half expected her to run into the mountain, but she was still with us by the time we reached Jhaampe, perhaps a month after I left. I went first to the old house of Chade, intending to burn it to the ground. I found it empty. His old studio was bare of everything save walls. I stood dumbfounded. Then I searched frantically everywhere, but I found nothing. When I went out, beside the tree were the she-wolf was resting and watching Chyne, there was a golden pony. A blonde child was petting the wolf-dog. As I came closer, I recognized Cunning. He rose on his feet and turned toward me. His clear brown eyes pierced mine and I halted. How come, that sometime the very young and very old have the same look in their gaze? For Cunning looked at me as Chade had. I halted in my steeps and he nodded at me, and then at the house.

"You did well." He said, only. Then he mounted the pony. I put my hand on his shin to stop him. Sacrifice or not, Seventh Duke or not, he was but a child, and I felt anger flare in me, though for no reason I could name. I clenched my hand around his ankle. He looked at me again, levelly. He was not afraid of me, I realized. As soon as I understood that my anger was to put fear in a child of ten years of age, I felt it crumble to ashes, and shame took its place.

"You have made this World, FitzChivalry. Do not begrudge us what we do in it." I gaped, for his words were too much like Chade's for my liking. Then Cunning looked at the she-dog, a too-poignant look, and turned his pony away. As he did so, a sob racked his slim, childlike shoulders. I let his go, my tongue still tied, with no apology and no consolation. As I watched the slim figure, shacked by silent tears I felt something gave away in me. I fell on the ground, and hid my face in the she-wolf fur.

_Snowcloud._

I blinked.

_Snowcloud. It is my name. For the colour of my fur. I personally really like it._

"And so it was that I knew her name." I stopped my tale to drink down the cold tea in a single swallow. The Fool had moved closer to hear my by now hoarse words. The firelight gilded his skin, but could not reveal what was behind his eyes. I saw track of tears on his cheeks, and knew he had cried in silence. For Thick, and, perhaps, even for Chade. That somebody beside me shed tears over them lifted my spirit, even after all those years. I sighed and let the sound of the rain be the only one of the room for a while.

"I think I have been played. By Cunning and Snowcloud, though neither ever told me." I glanced at Snowcloud. As usual when the subject came up, she gazed back at me, steadily, but offered no words. "I don't know how, but I think they put the tale in Hap's ear. Cunning wanted Chade stopped, thought I don't think he wanted the old man dead. Only halted, perhaps. I think the old man in some way used Thick's Skill to cure Cunning." I sighed. "Too many I think." I shrugged. I put my head in my hand. I could hear him breathing close, sitting as he was in a chair by mine. I rose my head and put it on his slender shoulder, searching for his strength. He carefully passed one of his arm behind my back. I stood there, breathing in, for a time. But there was more I needed to tell him, and it was far better to have it all out then than to talk another time. I pressed my forehead on his neck. His skin was deliciously cool against mine. I felt him shiver, and wondered if he was cold. With my eyes closed, I went on.

"I didn't stay in Jhaampe. I bid my farewell to King Eyod, and went." I hesitated, but went on. "I had not sent words at Whitywoods, and it had been more than two months. When I came back, Molly was frantic with worry. And I was back with a child and a wolf." I sighed and stood silent. I had thought I had cried all my tears on this tale, but found I had more to shed remembering my homecoming.

It was Summer when I left, and Autumn when I came back. The time of harvest. I had always found Autumn as the best season in Withywoods. The vineyard flamed in all the shades of red and yellow, plump grapes lay hidden behind the leaves. The light is tinted golden, and all things come to their completion. It was a time of reaping, of satisfaction for the year work well done.

I found nothing of this in my homecoming. Molly was angry at me, and demanded to know where I had been, and why. The rightful demand of a wife, I knew then as I know now. But as I watched her, Snowcloud silent at my heels and Chyne in my arms, I did not knew how to tell her. It was almost as if we were young again, her desiring knowledge I didn't know how to give her. So, I said nothing.

Harvest was not a joyful time that year. For weeks Molly and I skirted around each other, talking only when we had to, and then sparingly. Our tension spread to our holding, making people slither around. The fests were more subdue, and the wine was pressed without laughing. The leaves fell on the ground, but Withywoods was already engulfed by Winter.

I had much to do, because Molly didn't make provision for Chyne, and I was left to care for the baby. Little had I know how hard it is. I don't know why I didn't searched for a nanny, save that I had swore to Chade I would do it. Molly's indifference to the infant surprised and confounded me. But she never acknowledge the child's presence, and neither did the servants. Riddle himself was silent and didn't look at the baby. I didn't know what to make of it.

Snowcloud was a third cause of strain, after my long disappearance and Chyne. Molly didn't like to have her around. The wolf-dog seemed to feel it, and stayed out, in the tame woods and fields. I went to her daily. We talked. From her own remembrance of being a cub, I inferred that Chade had probably be right on her being a scion of Nightseye. Her memory of Baylor, my old neighbour, made me laugh out loud. Snowcloud's mother had been sired by Nightseye and one of Baylor's bitches. It surprised me that Nightseye didn't tell me, but in hindsight, it shouldn’t have. Baylor’s bitch was not pack, and as such, none of her cubs would be. So is the way wolves think. Snowcloud’s mother ran away from Baylor's farm, and her own father was a full wolf, but then went back to the farm when the pack's bitches drove her away, and there Snowcloud was born. She remembered littermates, but supposed them dead. So there was some of dog and much of wolf in her. Only of her time with Chade we never spoke. My suspicions of her being used by Chade in his desire to learn more about the Skill-River were never confirmed. They aren't to this day.

 But no matter can be left to hang forever, and one of those cold, clear nights that mark the boundary between Autumn and Winter Molly and I met, perchance, in the dark kitchen of our manor. I had gone there to soothe Chyne, who was a finicky baby and cried often in the night. I do not know Molly's reason to be here, save that perhaps she was as tired of our quarreling as I was. I still remember her, looking at me in the dark, cold kitchen, lightened only by the fire. Her hair was losing its red hue, and there were signs of age on her features. She was breathtakingly beautiful, but in the very moment I set my eyes of her I knew the icy ache of foreboding. I sat, in silence on the bench, and waited.

She sighed.

"I want to know, Fitz. I want to know where you where, and what you did." Her voice was calm, but it had steel in it. I held the baby closer to me, and I still remember her fumbling in her sleep against my chest. I watched her, powerless. I so wanted to speak with somebody of what had happened, and who better than my wife? I had not told Dutiful, nor Prosper. What reason I had to soil Chade's reputation?

So I told her. I told her it all. I spoke to her shoulders, for she had turned toward the window and watched out as I spoke. When I finished, with the stone-kitten took into the loving embrace of the stone-dragon, I sat still. I felt empty, as if I had just poured out all of me, bared for her to see. I waited. I do not know what I was expecting, but it wasn't what happened.

She snorted and turned to face me. I had expected anger, pity, perhaps even loathing. I had not expected irony. But what I saw in her face was sarcasm.

"Well, Fitz. I'll give you point for inventive, at least. I had never heard of an affair being so imaginatively cloaked."

I stopped my tale. I disentangled myself from the Fool embrace and went to the window of our little house. Outside, the storm was raging in all its power. I couldn't see ten paces from the window, save when a blue lightening flashed between sky and ocean. Then I could catch a glimpse of waves taller than ships, and of clouds rumbling in the sky. Earth and air were enemies, in a war that destroyed all in its wake.

"Some of the Khams' People believe that the Gods unmakes the World, to make it anew every year, in the first night of the Rainy Season." I said aloud, my forehead against the glass panel. "It sure looks like it." I added. The Fool said nothing. Snowcloud trotted to me, and nosed at my flank. I petted her, cherishing the familiar sensation of her fur between my fingers. I breathed in.

"She hadn't believe me. I had told her everything, and she hadn't believe me. She thought Chyne my own daughter, Fool, and my telling only a tall tale spun to hide it." I marveled at the dismay still in my voice, after all those years. "It was for no fault of hers. How could she understand? She had never been between the death of a beloved friend and a grievous injustice. She had never seen the Stone Garden. She had never killed." My voice was soft in my own hear. I kept my forehead and my palms on the window. Its coldness was a welcome respite on my heated skin. "I had once loved her because she was no part of my World. But that night, I knew it was not enough. I felt so strange, Fool. Once, I would have rallied against Chade, or the Farseer, or my magics that kept me apart from her. But I supposed I was too old for such juvenile reassurances. It was not any of those things. Better, it was all of them, because I was all of them. And I could not stopped being so. Pretend, perhaps, for a while. A long while, maybe. But..." My voice trailed off. I knew without Skill what we were both thinking about. A stupid confrontation, induced by elfbark and illness as much as by my own idiocy and his secrecy. He had told me that love doesn't ask for the loved one to be truncated. In a dark kitchen, facing the woman I used to love, I knew his words as true. It is to his credit that he didn't mention it, how right he had been so long ago. I closed my eyes against the storm outside and shielded him from the pain that remembering a time in which he had loved me brought to my soul.

I went on, my tale almost over.

"I had no answer, so I gave none. Snowcloud and I were bonded by then, and I would not break my word to Chade's by giving Chyne away. Molly and I... we drifted apart. Little more than a month later, I had my vision." I shrugged. "You know the rest. When I told her I had to go, she didn't ask me if I would be back. We broke our marriage. I... I think she understood I had not be faithless to her. But she couldn't comprehend my life. Even less so after the vision." I sighed. "Leaving the Six Duchies... Nettle didn't accept it. Dutiful seemed surprised and enraged..." My voice trailed off again. I didn't tell him of my meeting with my mother, my last deed in the land of my birth. That was for another time. Perhaps never. "I went anyway. You know the rest."

Silence fell on the house. I wondered how much time had passed. Dawn may have broken the horizon, and the sun may well be shining beyond the clouds. There was no way to tell. I felt empty, like a vase with all its water spilled. I went back to sit at the fire, now reduced to embers. I kindled it. When the Fool hand touched my shoulder gently, I almost jumped. He had always been able to surprise me. I watched him, craning my neck to do so. From my position, he looked impossibly tall and lean, but I couldn't make out his features. Yet the touch of his slender hand on my hair was gentle. I breathed out.

"I am tired, Keppet." I told him, quietly. For I was. And more than tired. I felt like the fiber of my being had been unraveled, and I needed time to weave them again. He nodded and offered a hand. I took it. He drew me easily to my feet, his strength, as always, surprising in one so slightly built. Clasping my hand, he led me to the bed, like he had done so often in the weeks of my mindlessness. I laid down and he laid at my side. I turned and put my head on his chest, letting the steady beating of his heart and Snowcloud's quiet presence in the back of myself lull me to sleep.


	7. Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated.
> 
> This is the longest chapter to date o.O
> 
>  
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*
> 
>  
> 
> I would love to thank Noam, Andromeda and Fire-starter... Comments made my day EVERY time :D
> 
>  
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u

** Chapter Six: Glass **

 

_Grat Trainer Atid is from Atremandia. As such he has more firm features than the people of Liantharin or Vietmar, in spite of being a Huan. For a long time, he served a lord of Dhevron. At the death of his Lord, he left the country to come back to Liantharin to become a Great Trainer, training young boys to serve the next generation of Lords. Years ago he was simply one Great Trainer among many, for Huans have no formal hierarchy among themselves, but during the week before the Sack of Lhansa it was he who ordered the city to be evacuated, when it was clear that the Iduyans and their demons were closing over the town and its riches, and that help wouldn’t come neither from Cong nor from Kuan. He ordered the other huans to pack the books of the library and to take carts and horses to bring them to safety. It was because of his action that much of the history of Clerres had been preserved._

_History of Clerres_

_Great Trainer Dath_

                                                                                                                                                                  

The storm raged for a long time, longer than the spawn of a single day.

I slept a great deal. We ate. He studied his scrolls as I combed Snowcloud’s fur. My confessions to the Fool had exhausted me like few things ever had. It was as a peaceful time inside the small house as it was a violent one in the jungle. Yet a growing sense of dread festered in me. I often raised my eyes to watch the tempest outside. It seemed to me to mark an end, the conclusion of a time. Over and over again, I glanced at the Fool, but if he felt as I did, he gave no indication of it. He labored over his scrolls, his auburn head bent. They were ancient things, frail and dusty, covered with intricate ideograms and decorated with White’s symbols. He was busy copying some of them on newer paper. He had never forbade me to touch them, still I knew they weren’t for me to handle to my liking, even if I never felt any desire to do so. As I stood by the window, watching with swelling alarm the monsoon getting fainter, I heard him sigh over them. I turned. He gave me a rueful smile.

“We will have to go. When the storm abates.” We blinked. We had spoken at once. We stood in silence, if the hammering of rain over the roof and the counterpoint of thunder can be called silence.

Snowcloud barked in amusement and rose to walk out the door. I let her go. She was capable of taking care of herself. I sighed.

“We have to go. I…” Images and names moved in my mind like flocks of raven. Vien. Chyne. Fizek. Jek. Chundra. Chien. Names, but names with memories and faces again. They needed me. I knew of this, and I was not anymore the callow youth who could walk away from beloved people pretending death. And there was something more. As the Fool nodded and carefully rolled the scrolls I admitted the truth to myself. As they needed me, so I needed them.

“We do.” He agreed, walking to the fire to stir the pot of stew. He stirred it. “Are you ready?”

I shook my head and winced as a thunder hit close. I didn’t know how to explain to him. Every warrior learns to distrust the strength of the first healing. All who have been hurt know the tenderness of new flesh. So I felt. I had been torn apart, and if it was true that my bonds with Snowcloud and with the Fool had sewed me together again, still I felt soft and frail. I knew well that reopening a closing wound could make the recovering harder, even impossible; yet what choice did I have?

I sighed.

“I have to. They need me.” I paused. My mind went back to the angry assassin boy who had left everything behind for revenge. I sighed at the pointlessness of my youth. My eyes met the cinnamon ones of the Fool. His gaze was level, and the dancing light of the fire and lamps highlighted the sharp cheekbone in his narrow face. They lent him an otherworldly appearance, as if he was a creature of light and shadows instead of flesh and blood. I took a deep breath. “I shall need you.” I said, quietly. “You, and Snowcloud both. I… don’t know how much of me is healed.” A flash passed in his eyes, and our bond glistened in an emotion I could not name. I blinked, and he nodded, his features relaxing into a smile.

“I shall be with you.” He said, and it was an oath. “What do you remember?” I considered his words as I went to sit at the table. It struck me it was the first time he asked that of me. During all our time in the house, he never inquired about my memories, asked for nothing more than what I gave him. After my grave-birth, Burrich had pestered me with question, needling me like a plowman needles an ox. Not so my Fool.

“Silvarin.” I said, at length. Recollections came easier when I was not searching for them, like a fish would come to you when you wait in water, but disappear as soon as you try to catch it. “We were going to Silvarin.” I frowned, and I felt a strange, numb dullness in my mind. I shook my head to clear it away. “And there was…”

Suddenly a memory like a lightening spread through my mind. I think I cried out and I jumped on my feet. Alarmed, the Fool stood up so fast that his chair clacked back behind me. His worried gaze met mine. My head was spinning as I pondered the depth of my folly.

“Keppet, the Law! The Schooling Law!” I urged him, dismay in my voice. “They will veto it, without me. I have to go back. Now. Today.”

The Fool set a cautious hand to my shoulder. “Fitz, think coolly. You can’t go now. The roads are flooded. And you don’t have to worry.” His melodic voice was soothing like balms over wounds. Snowcloud choose that moment to trot inside, dripping water and loll her tongue at us. For a moment, the Fool looked alarmed, but instead of shaking herself dry, she trotted toward the fireplace.

_What is all this noise, brother mine?_ She asked as I quested toward her. She was sated and quiet, if a bit cold. I didn’t even try to explain my worry to her. Laws and customs were too human things for her, and she neither understood nor cared about them.

_I have to go back to Silvarin. Now._

She yawned and presented her back to the fireplace. She was so soaked that her fur, normally white as the snow, looked a dark grey. She was so much alike her grandfather that I felt a pang of loss. Her tail thumped lazily on the ground.

_I think not. You should listen to the Scentless One, Changer. There is water everywhere. And mud! Mud does the most dreadful thing to my fur. It is all ruined._

Her doleful lament made both me and the Fool smile. I glanced at him. He was improving in his control of our bond, if in a queer way and by little steps.

“I shall tend to your fur, Snowcloud. Fitz has no sense at all in those things.” Both my companions looked at me with matched mournful expression in their eyes. I glared at them. The twitch in the Fool’s lips bespoke of a smile barely restrained. Snowcloud was not to be repressed. She howled her laugh.

I groaned and sat back again. I put my arms on the table and rested my head over them. Memories pulsated behind my forehead, swarming like a school of fish fleeing a shark, like I saw in my travel toward Clerres. I tried to put order in my thoughts.

“All that hard work.” I groaned. I could feel a gentle hand on the nape of my neck, combing quietly my hair. I pressed a little against it, like Snowcloud was wont to do to me when I petted her. I understood now why she did so. It was a comforting, pleasant touch.

“Would you care to tell me of it?” My Fool‘s voice was soft and gentle. I heard the chair scrape the wooden floor as he sat. I sighed again and my hidden face flushed red. I don’t know why. Suddenly, to speak of it seemed frivolous. Yet he had asked, and it would have been strange of me not to answer him.

“I… ah. It is just a law I fought for. To make so that all children of Vietmar would know how to read, write, and figure.” My voice was muffled by my arms and sounded flustered to my own ears. I sighed and my shoulder heaved. “I… It should have been discussed with the Lords after the annexation of Waitan was secured.” There had been many reasons for this delay. The necessity to press for change in a moment when my strength was at its peak and later the need to wait after Sendàr’s death. Complex political reasoning coalesced in my mind, and I absorbed them like the earth absorbed water. Strange, to have your own memories coming back to you from outside. I wonder if this is how a Stone-Dragon being slowly awaken feels, and discharged the thought. “It is… nothing important.” I finished, lamely.

A slender arm sneaked past my shoulder and my Fool drew me to him. I went willingly. Snowcloud, still drying herself by the fire, quested toward me. I tried to send her care and love. Politic is far too much for any beast but man to understand or care about. Wolves have no kings.

“Why do you say so? I do not disparage any man’s life, I told you already. And this is a good law if I ever heard of one. It will improve the lives of many, opening new possibilities and tracing new paths. You are a true King.” His tone was quiet and calm. I felt myself flush again, though for other reasons. I turned to look at him with an eye, pecking from above my arm.

My next words flew from me before I could check them. “Sendàr laughed at me for it. That a King could think a plowman’s child needed to know his letters…” I winced. Sendàr was not good memories. But the expression that passed over the Fool’s face at my phrase was as astonishing as it was unexpected. His eyes darkened and his lips thinned. I had seen men about to kill with the same bearing he took. I had never known he could look so cold, or so deadly. That he could be bewildered and frightened me at once.

“That is it. I must kill Sendàr.”

I blinked. “He is already dead.”

He nodded at that with a grim, wry smile. “This may be a minor difficulty, yes.” He sobered up and caressed my hair again. “Beloved, you are a true King. You were born to be one.” He said, quietly to me, and for a second I smelt the scent of a strange river, and heard the sounds of bird chirping. The wooden floor beneath us seem to lurch and move like a ship deck. Then it faded. I blinked.

“The Fool and the Fitz. The Prophet and the King.” I retorted to him, wearily. He seemed shocked at my words, and I wondered why. They were clear, spoken by him and by other in several prophecies, after all.

I fell back on safer topic. “Without me to champion it, the law wouldn’t pass the Lords of the West and the East.” I paused and rose my head. I turned on my chair to rest it over his shoulder. “What had happened while I was… away?” I asked, quietly.

_Human’s courting behavior make no sense._

 I glared at Snowcloud as much as I could in my position. _We aren’t courting_.

She yawned at me and rolled to expose her belly to the warmth fire. _So you say. Let me sleep while you court your mate, brother mine._ She yawned again. I didn’t deign this statement with an answer.

The Fool must have missed our little exchange, for he spoke slowly, his arm still around my shoulder. He moved to put himself more comfortably, and we adjusted against one other.

“After… After what you did, I went back to the White Inn.” I must have stiffened. He sighed. “I couldn’t go to the Tree and leave you there, Fitz. Keala brought me back to the White Road.” I didn’t ask him how they brought me there. I didn’t want to know. “I sent words that you had fallen ill after our meeting with the Khams.” His lips twitched. “It was not a lie, either. We finished the travel, and the White Road is properly sanctified. We decided to bring you here, to… see what would happen. I stayed with you, but Chyne, Vien, Fizek and Jek went back. Queen Chundra agreed, too.” I nodded against his shoulder, trying to patch together the fabric of my life.

“What happened in Vietmar and in Clerres?” I asked, quietly. He shrugged. “Not much that I know of. Your illness has scared many. Too close to Sendàr’s death to appear accidental, I would wager. Everybody is waiting to see if you recuperate, and how fast. As far as they know, you haven’t left the Garden Palace and neither have I. In Clerres…” He sighed heavily. When he continued, his voice was somewhat subdued. “The Civil War goes on. The Iduyans laugh at the foolishness of Cong and Kuan’s both, and raid Liantharin. This year crops had been even worse than the others. Many cities have been abandoned. And yet neither Kuan nor Cong yield.” I turned my head so that I could see his profile. His dark mien hided his feeling almost as well as his colourless appearance once had, but I knew him well.

“It is not your fault.” I said, softly. He made a small, pained sound. His shoulder sagged, but he said nothing.

“Keppet.” I repeated, softly. He did not open his eyes, but I continued. He would listen to me if he wouldn’t look at me. “It was not. At least, your decision avoided the involvement of the rest of Clerres in it. It is something. Nothing you would do or say could have stopped that war.” His lips twitched. When he spoke, his voice was unlike any I had ever heard in his voice. Bitterness soured his melodious tone to such a degree that I wouldn’t have recognize it as his own had I heard it beyond a closed door.

“Nothing that a Colourful White could say would have stopped this war, you are right.” I straightened my back and looked at him, but he had turned his head from me. In a flash of blinding awareness, I understood. The colourful white, and the bastard prince. Had he hoped that at his coming back he would be rallied as the true White Prophet? Had he desired to see himself recognized as what he knew to be? I bit my lip. His humanity awoke old feelings in my chest, and made me ache for him. I reached for him with my left arm and drew him to me. He resisted me at first, but in the end he yielded to my embrace. I held him as he had held me.

“You are the Prophet. My Prophet.” I said to him, and the surety of my voice surprised me. His head was on my shoulder, and his breath cool against my neck. I caressed his hair as he had mine. The first time I did it, I had been shocked to realize it was something I had desired to do for a very, very long time, never recognizing it. The strands between my fingers were as fine as they looked, and the chestnut colour, streaked with golden, was pleasant to look at. I let him take whatever strength he could from me, knowing it wasn’t enough even as it was all I had to give.

“The storm will quiet soon. In little time we could go to Silvarin.” I breathed in, deeply “It is time that I take back my place.” He nodded against my shoulder. The last of the rain trickled on the roof, above us, the spaced drops signaling the end of a beginning.

 

Sunlight woke me.

I opened my eyes all of a sudden and sat up on the bed, blinking. I was alone in it. The Fool had left already, and Snowcloud was in the jungle, enjoying the first hunt without rain. I went to wash to clear my head. I had dreamed of Vien and Chyne that night, a dream I feared was a Skill one. I quested for the Fool, but, as often is the case, I had no answer. On the table there was a bowl of congee with vegetable and a cup of tea. I checked it. The tea was lukewarm. I sat and ate, looking at the sunlight streaming in from the open door and the window. The day was as many days after a storm are: pleasant and warm, with a smell of wet earth. I went to drink my tea on the threshold.

The Jungle glistened and gleamed like a jewel. Many plants were flowers after the rain, and the smell of their effort were carried to me by the breeze. Clouds still covered some patch of sky, and there would be many more storm before the Wet Season would end. But for now, in the warm morning, I felt a quiet contentedness. I inhaled deeply and let go, feeling my shoulder unknot. I tested the muscles of my back and legs. I would need massage oil soon.

Then I went and searched for a quiet place whence to Skill to my Solos.

I climbed down the cliff, and sat over a rock in front of the ocean. The storm had brought much from the sea in the small beach. Aside from trunks and kemps I saw timbers once part of ships, and bones of aquatic animals. I shook my head. No time to give in to curiosity now.

I closed my eyes and carefully reached for the place of me that was connected to my Solo, expecting to feel the bright, orderly sense of Chyne, the calm strength of Vien and the sharp intensity of Bright Moon. I found none of this. That place was empty and bereft like a salt desert.

Startled, I opened my eyes and looked unblinkingly at the rough sea in front of me. Of course. I had been tore in pieces by the Skill. Of course the Skill-links I had had been severed. Of course. I should have foreseen that already.

I don’t know how long I stood there, debating whatever to try to reach for them without riding the links. I looked bleakly at a wooden relict dancing between the tall waves. Loneliness chocked me, swallowing me as the sea swallowed the wood. I tried to shrug it off. I almost attempted to Skill to Vien, but I knew it would be foolish. I had not yet healed enough, and I knew it.

I reached with the Wit, wordlessly, crying to my companion my desolation and loneliness. I felt Snowcloud abandon a trail and knew a pang of guilt. Had I any right to steal her away from something that gave her enjoyment for my own selfish needs?

_Don’t be stupid, brother mine. It doesn’t become you. I am coming._

I smiled and wearily began the climb up the house again, trying to gauge how long it would be before it would be safe to travel. I abruptly realized I did not know where I was. Was there any stream between here and Silvarin? Watercourses would likely be in flood. As I tried to remember if there was any way to gauge it, I turned the path and almost collided with the Fool. His eyes were wild and his hair in disarray. His clothing showed sign of mud on the knees, as he had fallen on the path and had get up again in a hurry. Before I could comment, he had seized me by the shoulder with an iron grip and was looking at me, his eyes roaming my face. Evidently what he saw reassured me, because he let out a ragged breath.

“Fitz… what was that?” He asked, bewildered. I looked at him bleakly.

“I felt… something from you. Something so…” He paused, and the haunted expression on his face told me what his words couldn’t.

“I… Was feeling lonely.” I told him, quietly. I winced. It didn’t sound good. I avoided his eyes. “My Skill-links with Vien, Chyne and Bitter Moon had been severed.” I added, quietly, and hung my head. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to share with you.” He barked a harsh laugh.

_Should I leave you two alone? I know that is what humans do in those cases…_

We both turned to watch Snowcloud. Her paws were muddy, and streak of it covered her flanks. I knew how she hates it. She was looking at us from the shadow of the jungle. She cocked her head and lolled her tongue at us. I blushed. Her mental tone had left no trouble about what the cases she was talking about were. She stood up briskly and walked toward the house.

_If you feel so lonely, brother mine, I would suggest something to occupy your time. Like giving me a bat and a good brushing._ She added. I smiled ruefully and hesitated before turning to the Fool. He had composed himself and was looking at his ruined garments, a long vest of amber silk, with an expression so alike the mournful one of Snowcloud that I couldn’t help laughing. He quirked an eyebrow at me, his face a mask of dolefulness.

“Ah, Fitz. Your inability with clothes is a mar on your perfection.” He said, and sighed theatrically. “Well, I must accept it by now, I suppose.” I chucked again and walked toward the house, Snowcloud pecking from the door to see why I wasn’t already inside. I smiled and breathed out. A broken Skill-link is easy to replace, if it is not broken in such a bad way as mine with the Fool had been, and I had felt no such jagged ends in the place of my Solos’ links. They could be rebuild easily enough. I unclenched my shoulders, trying to ignore the twinges of pain. I had my companion, and my Dhil’a.

I wasn’t alone.


	8. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated.
> 
> I am SO sorry for the delay! It is all my fault, I sent Emanuelle the chapter too late and she couldn't beta it till now :S So very very sorry!
> 
>  
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*
> 
>  
> 
> I would love to thank Noam and Andromeda... Yay comments!^__^
> 
>  
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u

**__ **

**__ **

**__ **

**__ **

**_ Interlude _ **

_The mountains rise, a sharp white against the darker sky. They are young mountains as Stone counts time, not yet wearied down by water and wind. Not yet colonized by life._

_The landscape is stark: jagged rocks outlined by colourless ice, as sharp as a flint blade and nothing more. Nothing lives. Even the sky is still. No clouds. No sun. Only the wind owls endlessly, singing a song of death among the ravines and making pebbles roll in its wake, the sound echoing in the cold air. Rock and Ice had the World before Life came, and here they haven’t surrendered their sovereigns._

_The same forces that created them made long gashes into their flanks that would be called passes in a warmer time than the one of Ice. Now, even when it is summer on the plain in them frost reigns, making the rocks slippery and the steps dangerous, while its sibling the snow hides unexpected gullies. Even reindeers avoid them during their migrations, and the ibex prefers lower places._

_Yet a figure limps on, hunched in the lifeless world, its head covered by a leather hood, and of leather and skin are its clothes. The fur on them is so ruined that it looks mangy. The parka is shredded and stained, beads of the decoration are missing. A half-empty pack hangs from slim, bent shoulders. The figure is long limbed and long boned, slender, and slenderer now than once, if the way its clothes hang from its body is of any indication._

_It walks with the same quiet inertia that makes the pebbles roll, and likewise with no apparent will. It goes on and on, its breath clouding in the cold air, a leather-clad foot in front of the other, not looking left nor right._

_A shadow moves._

_There is no other sign. The creature is the same colour of the snow that surrounds it and its spotted fur mimics the shades of the sun on the rocks. Only the tip of its white tail, moving, shows its presence. Blue, slit eyes fixate on the figure. Slowly, the creature moves, following the figure._

_Vanyel stops in the middle of the pass and his muscles contract, his long hand going to the javelin dangling from his belt. The creatures stops and coils as a spring. The wind owls, and the two living beings are as still as the stones and the ice surrounding them._

_The White turns abruptly, raising the lance to his shoulder. His grey-blue eyes met the pale blue ones of the snow leopard and for a moment, the barest of breath, Vanyel freezes, as his pupils dilate in a wild hope, dashed immediately._

_But the instant is enough._

_The feline springs before the White can hurl the spear, and Vanyel closes his eyes._

_The sun rises and sets as is its want, but its weak rays don’t touch the ancient ice of the mountains’ pass. The place is unchanged. Or almost._

_A second figure walks by, followed by a third. They seem almost identical to the one who fought there, but they moves as one._

_The taller figure is covered in leather and furs, but it is as neat as the other one was scraggy. Its furs are full and warm, and the hood is thrown back, showing straw-coloured hair and a scarred face. The man has a long stone-tipped javelin in one hand, and he uses it as a walking stick, in front of him, testing the footing. Stonelike eyes looks around._

_Flint chews his lip and frowns._

_The third figure is a feline, but stockier and darker than the snow leopard of before. Whiteclaw saunters along, sniffing the freezing air. He raises his head and growls._

_Both frown._

_The giant jaguar jumps on and sniffs the ground. The man pales under his tan and strikes the ground with the tip of the spear. A pool of dark ice gives away under his blows and the young man kneels to take a chip. He tastes it and shudders. His grey-blue eyes, lighter than they once were, meet the lambent ones of the jaguar._

_Then Flint leaps on his feet and follows the blood._

_He doesn’t run. The mountains don’t give second changes to the unwary, and one step is enough to doom you to a (an)icy death. But he walks fast, testing the ground with his javelin, his eyes, the expert eyes of the hunter, tracking the drops of lost blood to a small cave, a slit in the mountain, not bigger than the width of Flint’s forearm. In the front of it, lie a broken javelin, bone-tipped as the one of Flint is stone-tipped. And a tear-shaped opal, reflecting all the colour of the rainbow, with a broken leather string._

_The scream shocks the mountain, echoing in their depth with rage and pain and loss. It goes on and on, and it seems as limitless as the mountains themselves._

_The snow leopard in its burrow doesn’t see Death as it comes._

_The animal is young but jaded, as one needs to be to survive the harsh environment. Its den is well hidden among the precipices, among rocks that keep no trace. Its species is one of the few that have come to claim even that places as home, and they are its lords._

_They don’t know Man. There is none yet to know among the mountains just below the Ice._

_So when Flint, eyes burning with unshed tears and throat parched by screaming, finds it, the meeting is brutal and short as the young man spear ends the leopard life before the feline can truly understand what is killing it._

_Whiteclaw watches, and as the lifeblood of the feline stains the once-white fur, and tear as hot as blood falls on the ground. A sob wrench his strong body, shaking him from head to toe._

_Flint falls to his knees and holds Whiteclaw close as his strong shoulders shake with grief._

_The young man is limping into the mountains. The landscape doesn’t change, only the silhouettes of the rocks against the sky. Flint notices none of this, dull eyes looking at his feet._

_Whiteclaw trots beside him, and he is eyes and ears and nose enough for both of them, searching the land and the ice for sign of danger. Again, it is the feline who stops and growls._

_Flint looks blackly at Whiteclaw, apathy in the burned visage. He sighs and reluctantly follows where the jaguar’s lead._

_The young man rounds a boulder and stops cold in his track._

_Protected from the wind by the rock stands cooling heart with some pitiful ashes. Flint kneels again, touching them. There is little, but then, there is little in the mountain that would burn. He raises his eyes, the now lively gaze sweeping around. Another slit in the mountain catches his eyes, not five feet whence the man is._

_Whiteclaw’s round ears quiver and move toward it._

_Without losing time standing up, Flint scuttles toward the small refuge and enters. His body blocks the light, and the small cave plunges in darkness. Flint gropes around, blindly. His hands bump into something different from the gravel. Something slick and supple._

_Leather._

_Trembling fingers follow the leather, finding a torn leather tunic and then cool skin and fine hair. Flint stills, his fingertips over Vanyel’s neck, and colour comes back to him at the feeling of Vanyel’s pulse. Faint, but there._

_Then the young man jumps out of the cavern and runs to uproot some scrawny bushes that manage to survive in the slightly more sheltered environment of the canyon. He needs fuel. He needs fire._

_Whiteclaw jumps in to help, and the wind’s howling is forgotten amidst the sounds of life._

_The cave is small, nothing more than a slit in the mountain made when rocks, falling into the pass, wedged inclined into the cliff’s face. But the leather tent pitched neatly in front of it more than double the space, and keeps the warmth of the meager but merry fire from being lost in the ancient ice of the mountains. A giant jaguar lies in front of the tent, lazily scanning his surroundings._

_Flint scuttles inside the small cave, a bowl of dried meat soup carefully in his hands, and put it by the small, curled form. Vanyel is barely visible, huddled in all the spare leathers not donned by Flint and not part of the tent. His clear eyes follow Flint everywhere, with a hunger greater than any the White has for food. He doesn’t speak. He hasn’t since waking and seeing his Dhil’a’s form towering over him._

_Flint glances at him and sneak an hand inside the fur blankets, to caresses quietly the soft plumes on the White back. Vanyel’s eyes wink in bliss. The human man watches the White, thinks of wounds under the leather now, and of how frail life is amidst merciless rock and snow, and of a featherless child who seemed like him and was not and who came to him so long ago. He traces the spirals pattern on the side of Vanyel’s face, his fingers barely ghosting the gray-blue skin and his eyes harden in resolve. He turns toward the tent’s opening._

_“Rest, Dhil’a. We have to go to your people.”_

_Flint’s voice is soft, and almost lost in the howl of the wind._

_But Vanyel hears. His eyes close and his head bows and would his eyes held any tear, they would be shed now. As it is, he fumbles out of the cover and drag Flint to him. The man goes willingly, and when the White lays his forehead against Flint’s, the young man smiles._

_Whiteclaw purrs, echoing the felling of his bonded companion and yawns, curling up to rest afore the travel._


	9. Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated. They also make me laugh xD
> 
> Next week I'll write the last chapter of Blue! My, it is flowing fast :) No, it won't be the end of the story, there will be another part and an epilogue :D
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*
> 
>  
> 
> I would love to thank Noam and Andromeda... Yay comments!^__^
> 
>  
> 
> Fitz&Fool&the RoE Universe are not mine. Everything else is u.u

 

 

 

** Chapter Seven: Bells **

 

_Xin Hai Day, Bing Zi Month_ _, Fourth Year of the Second Cycle of White Beloved. Moderate and fair weather; at_ _W_ _ǔ_ _shí 1 kè am we had the first case of Fever. By Z_ _ǐ_ _shí 2 kè am m_ _any of our people at this time lay dangerously ill of Fevers and Fluxes._ _We can’t sail with the rest of the Great Sail fleet in the morrow._

_Yi Mao Day, Bing Zi Month,_ _Fourth Year of the Second Cycle of White Beloved. We lost to the Fever and Fluxes:_

_N. 1 Third Officer_

_N. 1 Ship’s Physik_

_N. 1 Physik's assistant._

_N. 1 Carpenters_

_N. 23 Hands._

_The Great Sail Fleet has sailed yester eve, at_ _Chénshí with the morning tide. 5 more hands are abed with the Plague._

_Xin You Day, Bing Zi Month,_ _Fourth Year of the Second Cycle of White Beloved. I have been forced to hire barbarians to man the Future’s Pride. The chosen barbarians are:_

_Hands: Nabih, Ramiz, Qasim, Sabeer, Alym, Hadi, Zahir and Amehn of Jhamailian. Clara, Kiryn, Mayer, Thoris, Alban and Liam of Bingtown. Brig, Tier, Charger, Liberty, Dirar, Ilias and Jaul of the Pirate Island. Steady, Lia, Jek and Cog of the Six Duchies._

_Physik: Nameless. This man has not given a name. He has a barbarian magic to cure wounds and fever that is so effective that I chose to hire him after he cured the 5 hands ailing from Fever and Fluxes. He brings two infants with him, a male and a female._

_Jia Zi Day, Bing Zi Month,_ _Fourth_ _Year of the Second Cycle of White Beloved. At Chénshí the Future’s Pride set sails for the White Land. Fresh Breezes and Cloudy weather for the most part of the day._

_Excerpt by the Captain’s Logbook_

_of the Great Sail Ship “Future’s Pride”._

The day after we cleared the little house. It was a bittersweet task, the end of a strange time. I didn’t have much to call mine. Some clothes. My inks. My khamrang. When I had finished packing I looked at the little bundle over the bed I had shared with the Fool, and it seemed ridiculously little for how heavy it felt in my heart. I dressed in a tunic and breeches of slate grey and amber, with embroiders at the hems and a belt with amber beads sewed on. The clothes felt strange, familiar and eerie at once. The Fool looked at me, and said nothing. He was attired in the simple garb of a peasant, rough brown cotton, a shade darker than his skin, but I knew he had finer garments in his bundle, of pure white.

The Fool made his preparation as well. His bag was bigger than mine, and the scrolls had been carefully tucked inside. I don’t know what he did of what was in his secret room. I didn’t ask, and he didn’t tell. We cleaned the house in silence, I kneeling by the fireplace to scoop it and he scrubbed the table. I don’t know why we did, save that leaving the place dirty was unseemly somewhat. But by midday everything was clean and pristine. We sprang the door together, more against marauding beast than against men, and we took a step back.

Neither of us said anything. As I watched the house against the cloudy sky my heart felt heavy.  It seemed small and yet safe, a heaven against a dark and dangerous world. I thought of another cottage close to the sea, and of fifteen years I had half-lived there. I knew that, for how much I wished for peace, I couldn’t do it anymore. I glanced at my friend. He was standing still and looking at the cliff as I was. I wondered if he shared my feeling, but his expression was guarded and our bond silent. Snowcloud looked at both of us and said nothing.

Then we turned backs to the house, and walked on, my wolf-dog trotting briskly beside us. I had no idea about my whereabouts, so I followed the Fool.

The roads of Waitan, save the White Roads, are little more than animal paths. The Khams have no use for them beyond the needs most animals have. We followed the beach, climbing over the opposite cliff. The meeting of the Jungle and the Sea is always beautiful, palms bending over water, and luscious fern cling on the sand. But the beauty turns uncanny during the first time of the Rainy Season. The gray sky above shrouds everything in gloom, and the wind howls between the shredded leaves of the palms. Even the animals don’t go abroad during this time, and the Khams lies, awaiting.

The hike was not hard, save from the mud that tried to suck our boots. We did not speak till the precipice hid our home behind us. It was I who broke the silence of the wind and waves.

“You have taken no ratio.” He turned to look at me. I elaborated. “You expect we will find shelter before night.” He smiled at me, pleased with my words. Perhaps he remembered a time, not so long ago, when I couldn’t recall who I was.

“Yes. We aren’t far from Silvarin, actually. We should be there in three hours, or four at most.” I nodded. Silvarin. My city. Yes, I knew of it.

I frowned and looked at the sand under my feet. There was something, half recalled. “There is a way to enter the Garden Castle, unseen. The cliff behind it has a cave, hidden under the weaves. You must swim. But from the cave there is a passage, it goes to the Kings’ Quarters.” As I spoke, I could see it. The underwater cave, and the way, cut in stone. The cavern had been Snowcloud’s discovery, her keen hearing picking up the sloshing sound of the water.

The Fool almost stopped in his trail, but resumed immediately. A smile played over his lips.

“Why I am not surprised you have a secret entrance in this castle, as well?” He teased me. I smiled back.

“Because you know me. We will have to go to the docks, thence we will walk to the cliff. I’ll show you the place.” I promised. And something else. Something nagged at my mind, like a melody half-forgotten. I shrugged and pressed on, hunching against the wind. I would remember.

We prodded on. The landscape was an endless stretch of gray sky and grey water, and on our left the green-gray of the Jungle. Snowcloud would often walk ahead, to investigate something of interest, only to run to us when she had. She is, sometimes, more of a dog than a wolf.

During one of her escape, a tall wave crashed over her, drenching her with sandy water. Her yelps stopped both me and the Fool, and we couldn’t help but laugh.

_Sand or mud. Mud or sand. I so hate this season, brother mine._

Snowcloud doleful lament made me smile. She had fallen beside us, lifting her paws exaggeratedly over the sand, dripping and crestfallen.

_The mud dirty me, and the sand goes everywhere and makes me itchy._ She added, crossly.

_You look fetching as ever, sister._ I replied, with a teasing tone in my mind. She snorted and retaliated by shaking strongly enough to shower both me and the Fool with sand and water. My friend yelped and jumped away, avoiding the worst of the small shower.

“What have I done?” He inquired, looking with indignation at Snowcloud. She lolled her tongue toward him.

_You are his mate. You share his deed._

The Fool frowned and put a hand dramatically over his chest, looking mournfully at the sky. “So I, innocent, must suffer for a crime not mine.” He said, theatrically. I bit the inside of my cheek not to laugh, but I fear my eyes gave me away.

So we went. The light grew dimmer. We had to cross two small streams, now enlarged by the rains into foaming rivers. We managed without falling into the icy water, the Fool skipping over the stone-path with his usual grace and me and Snowcloud following suit.

It wasn’t long before dark, and I wondered if I should ask the Fool to stop and camp before the night surprised us when we climbed the last cliff and saw Silvarin sprawling beyond.

In the moment my eyes rested on it, memories sprang in my mind, powerful as a punch or good brandy. Yes. My second city. I had planned it, drawing every line and many more yet to be built. Here there was the Great Trainer’s Hall, its seven sides lit by yellow lamps. There was the dock, and the fishermen boat’s lanterns, their owner getting ready for the night catch, bobbing gracefully over the waves. Here were the quarters, illuminated by lamps and patrolled for peace.

And there was the Palace, just behind us, surrounded by the Gardens that give it its name.

I looked at it, with proprietary pride. It was something between a fortress and an elegant and expensive residence. I had remembered of Tradeford Hall in giving architects and builders my desires. Patterns had been worked into the stone walls and there were graceful arches to the entryways. Towers there were, and walls, tall and strong, with four gates elaborately carved in metals. One broad carriageway led straight up to the great house. Other narrower walks and drives invited one to investigate lily ponds and cleverly pruned fruit trees or quiet, shady walks. All of this beauty was spread over more acreage than a good-sized farm, taking by itself a third of the city. Most of the trees inside were older than the palace, a tame Jungle where monkey and deer still lived, safe from hunting. Yet there were sign of construction still. The tall, strong walls were completed, the first part of the Castle I had wanted done, but of the three buildings that made the inner castle, two were still shrouded by scaffolds. I sighed.

I turned to the Fool, who was watching me. The darkness hid his features, cloaking him in shadows. I pointed at the Garden Palace.

“See how it is? Silvarin is not as protected as Fisil. So I have wanted a palace where all of the population can hide, if need be.” I explained, satisfied. I eyed at it dubiously. “It will be other three or four years before it is completed.” I added, and started descending the narrow mountainous path, followed by the silent Fool. My eyes searched in the growing darkness the best place to pass, unnoticed. It wouldn’t be difficult, the cave lay straight down to us.

_I refuse to use that. I have got enough saltwater in my coat already, brother mine. I’ll go the right way._

I eyed Snowcloud.

_If you think you can do so without being seen, sister…_

She snorted, but didn’t deign me with an answer, trotting down by her own path, her bushy, white tail rose in indignation. I chuckled. We were down, perched on a rock nearby the Royal Dock in few minutes. The rocks were dark, and darker still was the ocean. The sounds of the wave was as pleasant as a lullaby, and the brackish smell and sparkles of underwater lives comforted me as only somebody grow up by the sea can understand. I splashed down, getting wet to my thighs. I squinted and strained my ears, searching for the peculiar echoing sound of the wave in the hidden cavern. Yes. That must be the place.

I turned toward my friend. “It is here.” I frowned. It was very dark already. I eyed the place. The tide was rising. That would help. “The current will suck you in. Just be careful not to hit the walls.”

He sighed. “Delicious. What is better than a cold underwater tunnel in complete darkness where you can bump stone walls, after all?” I smiled at his tone. “You can go by the main gates if you want.” I proposed. I could almost see him shaking his head. “No. We are both supposed to be inside, remember?” I nodded. Then I took two good breaths, hold the third and dived.

The underwater passage is never pleasant, and I was being carried in by the current afore I remembered I had never attempted it before by dark. I could see nothing. Water pressed me everywhere. I felt the panic rising, and fought it down. There is one moment in the dive, when you have almost finished the air in your lungs and with a flash of terror you know you are going to die there. This time, in complete darkness, it was ten times worse.

Then the current released me, and I kicked madly with my feet. I broke the surface of water, and took a deep breath and then another, gasping and coughing. A few seconds later, the harsh sounds of my breathing were followed by the equally rough ones of the Fool. His rasping breath told me I wasn’t the only one to have felt fear in the passage.

“Remind me… Remind me never to do that again!” He said, his teeth chattering. I smiled in the complete darkness and searched by touch on the rock surrounding the pool for the lamps and fire starter, swimming slowly around in my hunt. The cave smelt musty, of old stone and sea water, with an undertone of fish. It was a familiar smell.

“It gets fun if you do it enough.” I said, the roughness of my voice belying my words.

He snorted. “I don’t intend to do it enough time to discover it. Next time Snowcloud refuses to do something, I shall as well.”

I chuckled and found what I was searching for. Under my boots, I could feel pebbles. I rose to my feet and fumbled with the lamp, with care, not to wet it. In a few moment moments, the oily glow illuminated the cave. The Fool, his auburn hair plastered to his skull, looked around. The place was a simple cave of stone. Perhaps once it was always above the wave, but now the only time the small passage is left open is during the lowest tide. He swam toward me and walked out of the water. His soaked clothes hung from him like rags.

“You look like a scarecrow.” I informed him. He looked at himself and laughed shortly.

“So do you, my friend. So… That is the way?” He gestured toward a crude passage cut in the stone. I nodded and started toward it.

“Yes, two different set of builders build it. None of them know the full of it. One is from Athremandia, the other Uzkabat.” He snorted at my precaution, but I knew he appreciated it. The lamp casted a yellow glow on the stone, and the only sounds were the sizzling of the flame and the slow dripping of our clothes and hair. The air smelled musty and clean, of sea water and bare rock. We walked uphill on swept stone. The stone was cold, and we were both shivering when the passage ended on a wooden panel. I gestured silence to my friend and put my ear to it. I heard nothing. I took the handle and opened the hidden door.

The room was pleasant and spacious, a symphony of reds and golds. A soft, dense rug with stylized decoration covered the floor wall to wall. A bed stood on our left, with curtains in silken brocade with embroiders in gold and amber. A lacquered, carved table with its chairs stood in front of us. On our right, a round window gave to the gardens. The room is on the second story of the palace, high enough not to fear to be seen by idle passerby. The walls were covered with wooden panels inlaid with amber and other yellow stones. Two lit lamps illuminated everything with a golden glow through amber glass. A heart, now cold, stood on the other side of the bed.

I put the lamp on the table and gestured my friend toward a screen of paper with exquisite decoration.

“You can change there. There should be some clothes you can don.” I said to him, wondering how to call Vien in my current condition. Once, I had relied on our Skill-Link to do so. Not for the first time, I noticed how much I have come to rely on my magic. I felt like the realization should have made me uneasy, but oddly I felt nothing of the sort. I shrugged it off.

I need not to have worried. As soon as I opened the door toward the second room of my quarter, I found my Huan standing there with Snowcloud at his heel. He was dressed in the long cassock of the Huan, in soft tones of cinnamon and cream. He was neat as always. Snowcloud barked at me and wagged her tail. Vien’s black eyes looked at me, a pitched expression in his fine features. I frowned.

“Vien? I need a change of clothes. I can’t go on like this.” I said, in the language of Vietmar.

I had not expected what happened.

The young man face crumpled and he collapsed on his knees, putting his forehead on my feet. His black headdress clattered on the ground. His slender shoulder shook. I was struck dumb. I reached down to touch his shoulder with my hand. “Vien? Are you unwell?” I asked, awkward. He took my hand and held it between his, and hid his face in my palm. I could feel wetness over his smooth cheeks. It shocked me to my core. Why was he crying?

_He missed you. You are the leader of the pack, brother mine. The pack wasn’t complete without you._

I looked at Snowcloud. But I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing.

A few minutes later, Vien composed himself and rose to sit on his heels. He dried his eyes with the hem of his yellow-brown tunic, a child gesture that unmanned me even more, and gulped down. He put both his hands in his sleeves and looked at me. “Forgive me, my liege. It is just… When I met you last time, you did not… The Prophet had told me you were better, but seeing it…” His voice faded away. I cleared my throat. “I need other clothes, Vien. And to speak with you. Where are the others? I’ll need Chyne and Bitter Moon to rebuild our Skill-Links.” Vien rose to his feet, and nodded eagerly. “Chyne is in Fisil. She is keeping the fort for you, my lord. Bitter Moon is with Queen Chundra in Dushanbe. But both can come here soon if need be.” I nodded. “There is need. Skill to them, I want them here as soon as possible. And I want the information about House Suen’s Shaman and about the Schooling Law.” I frowned. “But before, clothes.” I added, looking at the puddle I had dripped on the rug.

Vien didn’t lose himself in words and departed swiftly to do my bidding. I turned around and closed the door behind Snowcloud.

The Fool was standing there, dressed in a flowing cassock that I recognized as mine, and had used the water in the washbowl to wash his hair. The garment was too wide for his slender frame, but he had tied the sash expertly around his slim waist and the overall effect was of grace and refinement. I looked at him, amused.

“You would look good covered in a burlap sack.” I said, shaking my head. He raised an eyebrow and mockingly mimed a courtly bow in way of thanks. I laughed and went to light the fire in the hearth. Getting dry sounded an increasingly good idea. Snowcloud padded toward the heart and curled up by me, pecking over her stretched forepaw at the Fool.

_Now you understand why I have avoided that water-trap, little brother?_

Surprised, I rose my head. It was the first time that Snowcloud addressed the Fool directly. By the roundness of his eyes and the astonishment on my friend’s face, he was as astonished as I was. But he had always been swift to recover.

“Yes. Why didn’t you tell me?” He said, in mock outrage.

Snowcloud barked in amusement. _Ah, but I believe in learning through experience!_

I laughed out loud at that, and both my bonded companions regarded me with feigned disgust. I hid my face to hide my smile.

In a little time I had the fire going and Vien had brought me a change of clothing with new fresh water to wash out the salt of the sea. I went behind the screen as Vien started talking.

“We haven’t had any news of the shaman. The Khams report that it apparently stays in the Dead Stones.” A shiver ran through me. I shrugged it out and concentrated on Vien’s voice as I took out my tunic and sloshing boots. “But his magic is powerful. He has learnt some way to keep the Khams at bay, but he can’t exit the ruin without the Pack hounding him.” I nodded.

“A stalemate.” I commented, before dipping my head in the basin and starting to scrub my hair. I shivered when my wet hair hit my back. I started to comb it, cursing under my breath at the tangles. I have never had the patience for this.

“Yes, my liege. Suen Baojia confirmed it probably was his shaman, but was honestly surprised by the… developments.” I snorted at Vien’s wording. “He says what his daughter had: the shaman had been suggested to them by a courtier of Kuan, a clerk I think.” I cursed louder when a particularly stubborn tangle made me strain my hair badly.

Vien grew silent, and the Fool peeped behind the screen. “By the Gods Above and Beyond! Would be less trite than “By All The Gods!”” He suggested helpfully.

I snorted. “Thank you, I’ll remember that.”

He smiled at me. “I live to please.” He cocked his head to his shoulders. “You are making a mess for nothing.” He informed me. I groaned and handed him the comb. He looked at me with sudden confusion in his eyes. I frowned. Was I not clear enough? Before I could speak though, he took the accursed object and put it on my scalp. He started to disentangle my hair. I sighed with pleasure. Perhaps Snowcloud had a point in asking to be brushed and combed.

“Thank you.” I said, softly. Then, louder: “Go on, Vien.”

Vien cleared his throat. “I have written the clerk’s name, it may be worth to investigate further. A simple name, Tre’Kato.” I almost nodded. Kato the Younger. Several courtiers of Liantharin are the Younger or the Older, for they pass names as they pass their sinecure.

“The Schooling Law had been put on abeyance by the Queen till you would be better.” I let out a breath and turned to smile at my Fool. He smiled back at me. He was busily disentangling the last stubborn strands. I have long held the idea that sometimes he thinks of me as a sort of doll, like his puppets or the one of his childhood, to dress and put to his fancy. Sometimes, I allow this to him. It pleases him greatly.

He put the comb down. “Here. You see, nothing happened.” He rose an eyebrow. “Now I go before Vien starts to have doubts about us. Never would I attempt to your virtue.” Before I could think to a suitable answer, he had slid outside the screen.

_You are slow, brother mine. You need to get faster if you want to have the upper hand with the Scentless One._

I took out my trouser, groaning.

_I have given up having the upper hand with him… Oh, decades ago, sister._

I could hear her mental laugh. _Wise choice_.

I washed with some soap and cold water as the Fool and Vien discussed politics. I felt a moment of relief. My Dhil’a and my Huan found each other agreeable. It would have caused no end of trouble if they had taken a dislike of each other. But I needn’t have worried. Few people can resist the Fool when he uses his charms. I put a towel around my hip and perused the clothes Vien had chosen for me.

A moment after I was out of the screen, brandishing them in front of Vien.

“I have no intention of dressing like this!” I said, adamant, indicating the complex garments, full of complicated embroidery and precious metal and jewels. I could make out wolves, bucks and suns only in the part I was looking at. There were all the shades of cream and more than a touch of white, but the hems were blacks. The whole things was in silk, and weighted enough to count as a martial exercise.

Vien looked at me with pure calm. “I fear that, for this evening formal dinner, it would be better if you appear in a regal fashion, my liege.”

I gritted my teeth. “I can agree with that, but I refuse to…” So absorbed was I on arguing with Vien, that I did not notice the new arrival in the room.

“And this, my friend, is the moment in which, if we are lucky, the towel slips”

I froze. Then I turned slowly around, knowing who I would see.

Jek’s face was turned toward the Fool, and her voice was colloquial, like they were speaking of the weather. Two pair of eyes, one hazel and one a dark cinnamon, regarded me with matched naughtiness and more than a touch of speculation.

A man must know when he is defeated. I beat a hasty retreat behind the screen, and I donned the thrice cursed clothes, amidst the laughter of the Fool, Jek, Snowcloud, and the restrained snicker of Vien.

It sounded like silver bells to my ears.


	10. Fish

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated. They also make me laugh xD
> 
> Last chapter of Blue written! Oh myy... I'll begin the next part next week :D   
> I already know the title...
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

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** Chapter Eight: Fish **

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**_Eadness_ **

 

_The meaning of this rune is complex. It is tied to the symbol “Akhel”. It relates to the completion of one “duty”. It also means fulfillment, completeness and, in some phrase, “Joy”._

_The connection of the two symbols: "Akhel" and ""Eadness" meant “life”, in which case the pronunciation was “Ae”. It could also indicate “Not-Prophet Ancient White”, pronounced Ieldřa._

 

  
**_Ae/_ ** **_Ieldřa_ **   


**__ **

_A "Prophet-Ancient White" was pronounced "Dhil'a" and written:_

 

  Formal meals at the Kings’ Table of Vietmar are not to be trifled with. Vien seemed to think I had forgotten everything he had taught me about it, and as he fussed around my clothes until they fell to his satisfaction, he saw fit to repeat to me it all. He reminded me I was to greet people when I first encountered them, for in Vietmar, to the contrary of my birthland, it is the one of higher status that has to acknowledge the existence of subordinates. Then he inundated me with protocol; whom could precede me out of a room, and under what circumstances (I had precedence on almost anyone, and under almost all conditions). And on to the manners of the table. To pay attention to where everybody was seated; to pay attention to the dishes presented; how to drink a toast, or a series of toasts, without overindulging myself. And how to speak engagingly, or to listen attentively, to whoever might be seated near me at dinner. And on. And on.

As I half-listened to him, I watched my friends milling around. Jek and the Fool were chatting with each other about the incoming meal. The Fool was leaning over the carved table, one of his hands idly scratching Snowcloud between her ears, one of his knees bent so that his toes curved around the table leg. He was smiling. Jek was leaning over to him, and gesturing at Silvarin out of the window. Unwittingly, I listened to their talk. So I learnt that my friend would not be dining with me.

I stiffened. Vien, kneeling by my waist to arrange my belt, rose his head sharply to look at me with his slate eyes. Snowcloud turned to me. The Fool stopped in mid-sentence.

Jek’s hazel eyes turned between me and the Fool, and then to me again.

“Well, is there something I am not privy to?” She asked, quirking one eyebrow.

I breathed out. I looked eyes with the Fool. His dark gaze held sympathy, and care.

“Fitz, you have to go. Alone. Would I be with you, now…”

I cut him out, before he could finish the phrase. “The Nobles would question whatever you had to do with my recovery. Or with my illness. Or both.”

He nodded. I blinked, and wondered how easy it was to find again old ways of thinking. It was a way of sifting facts and assembling them, a training that let the mind make swift leaps to conclusions that were not conjectures. A way of survive in the midst of the world of court, betwixt politics and conspiracies. Knowledge of it seemed to seep inside me, befouling and warping my thoughts. I shuddered. Yet I knew I needed it, even as I resisted it.

Snowcloud stood silent, her blue eyes watching me. She yawned. This was human-pack politics, and she wanted none of it. Her bemused indifference made me smile.

A sudden realization trickled through me like a drop of cold water down the spine. Begin with a simple observation. The Fool hated cold. Yet he had braved the cold water of the sea and the underground passage to enter the Garden Palace. Even if the White Prophet can come and go as he wishes, and no house in Clerres is barred to him. The White Prophet could have come by the gate, with honor.

But the White Prophet was not here. Not in Waitan.

 “They believe you have left. That you are… somewhere in Clerres. Elsewhere.” I paused, frowning. “In Behit.” I added. It was the most likely guess.

Jek and the Fool exchanged glanced, and a smile played on the admiral’s lips. “Seems pretty recovered to me.” She remarked. The Fool sighed and nodded.

“We had to stage my departure.” He confirmed. Then he waited. I frowned and pondered some more. This was more exercise my mind had had since I had recovered it, a month before. “Gombochab knows. So do Chyne.” I paused, thought of Chundra, then discarded the notion. She was of Clerres. To make her understand would mean many more explanation than what my friend was likely to desire. “Nobody else.” I raised an eyebrow.

The Fool’s smile widened. He turned to Jek, nodding. “Much recovered.” There was satisfaction in his voice. I smiled back, pleased.

Vien rose to his feet. His face was guarded, his dark eyes downcast. He folded his hands in his sleeves. He had not spoken, and suddenly I realized we had been talking in the language of the Six Duchies. I breathed and hesitated. I could not apologize to my Huan, nor he had any right to demand an explanation. I watched the young man put my toiletries in order. I could still feel his tears in my palm. There is a price to be paid to loyalty, both by the one who gives and by the one who receives it. I had once given my life and my death to my king, but I had not been as willing as Vien. I had been a surly, if loyal, servant for the Farseer’s throne. And so I had been remiss in my duty to my King, my grandfather, Shrewd, and let him die in filth and pain.

I wished to be better as a King than as a liegeman. I turned to my friend. What I had to tell was not my tale alone. I met his eyes. His gaze was grave and thoughtful, and I wondered if he had felt an echo of my thought. But we were always able to speak without words, even afore any bond of Skill or Wit. I jerked my head toward Vien. He nodded back at me, his fingers contracting as he scratched Snowcloud behind the ears. She lolled her tongue in bliss. I turned to Vien, and spoke to his silk-clad back.

“I am his Catalyst. We… saved the World together.” Jek snorted. She is Six Duchies breed, and has very little patience with Clerres’ philosophy. But Vien gasped and whirled to look at me, the gown of his robe raising as he moved. His eyes darted between me and the Fool. The Prophet nodded, and his gaze as he met mine was warm and soft.

“Twice.” He added, with a quirk of his lips.

Vien’s hand went to his lips, hiding his expression, but his pupils were wide with shock. It was not small matter what we had just disclosed to him. The White Lore had been much tainted in the course of thousands of years, but this much was seen as true: if the White Prophet had right of life and death on his Catalyst (as he, indeed, has over any man or woman of Clerres, and therefore of the World), none else had, and the Catalyst had power over all others, for the Catalyst did the deeds as deemed right by the White Prophet. All should strive to be catalyst of their own time, but only one can be the Catalyst. For Vien, that means that my role and status was second only to the one of my friend. For me, as I watched the realization settle into him, it meant another brick in the wall between master and servant.

Vien squared his slim shoulders and nodded slowly. As he looked at me, his eyes held a new feeling. Awe. I averted mine.

“This is all very uplifting, but in an hour or so this savage brute will have to dine with the notables and nobles of Silvarin. And he should be ready.” My friend’s mocking words broke the mood. I smiled. Snowcloud yawned and went to the heart, turned on herself three times and fell down on the soft rug, her mind sending a clear message about exactly how interesting she found the whole business. She was quite detailed. Both my friend and I chuckled.

Jek groaned. “And I am one of them. It is a pity that Kien can’t come, but he has to stay on his manor, close to the border. I would prefer to be there, too, for your knowledge. The rain is not nearly as bad there, and the flowers are lovely.”

I nodded. “Who sent the dishes?” I asked Vien. He cocked his head to his shoulder, considering the question.

“Citymaster Great Trainer Atid sent karnataka. Dockmaster Thrin Mai Thi Loan sent bahn knot. Notable Zhang Mei sent dongo fish. Aspyrgend Lym sent a saola’ roasted leg with wild vegetable.” I nodded. This was not a great number of persons, but only the most lofty and influential of the Houses had the right to send a dish to the King’s table. By tradition, if the kings fell ill after eating a plate, the guilt lay squarely on whoever sent it. This is one of the few Clerres’ custom I agree with, since it shifts the need to ensure none of the food is poisoned from the Kings’ to the Noble and Notable Houses. There would be others in the crowd, eating in the low tables, and more would stand behind them, not eating at all. The idea of all those people made me physically ill.

Just that moment, the Dinner Gong rang, signaling the arrival of the lowest of the people allowed to be present as the King dined. There would be other two bells. I turned my head to look at Snowcloud, still lying by the fireplace. I quested toward her, and she moved an ear, sending to me a flood of warmth, sleepy love and acceptance. I smiled and turned to my friend as the second gong rang. He was still in my clothes, still barefoot with his sleek, wet hair unbound on his shoulders like a cascade of auburn brocade. Our bond was not as steady nor as strong as the one that bound me to Snowcloud, but he walked to me and put his hand on my shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I shall be close to you.” He said, softly. I nodded. As I turned and Vien fell to step behind me, Snowcloud rose, stretched in the way of wolves and dogs and trotted beside me. I glanced at her.

_You are tired, sister. You need not…_

_Of course I need to come. Don’t be ridiculous_. She scoffed, managing to look down at me by the height of my thigh.

I wished her to be with me. I felt tired already, and stretched too thin. But this was a human thing, and none of her business. I told her so.

As the last gong rang, she snorted and paced by me, following me out of the room.

_This is not my hunt, you are right. But it is yours, and you are mine._

I bit my lips as I walked down the wooden corridors of the palace. Flowers in decorated pots were everywhere, for the Garden Castle likes to give honor to its name, and all of them in bloom. Subtle fragrances filled the air. I breathed in, and felt my shoulders unknot a little. My body remembered what my mind had trouble recalling. My steps brought me in front of an imposing, decorated door. It was not of wood, though it was covered with wooden plates, lacquered and carved and inlaid with amber and flint. Inside that beauty there was a core of steel. So where all the door of the Garden Palace. I waited for Vien to open it, and entered in the Hall of Supreme Harmony.

I had not completed my stride that a voice rang in my head, calling out a name that was, and was not, mine.

“KING XHANA’ DOI CHIHN!”

A rustle of people rising to their feet followed it, and everybody in the room bowed. I didn’t look left nor right, ignoring the multitude of persons around me. Their presence was an almost physical sensation, weighting me down. For a panicked second, I could not breathe. Shapes and forms molded into each other and with a sickening moment I almost felt myself unravel.

Then Snowcloud pressed down on my leg, and my vision cleared. I went to sit cross-legged on the place farthest away from the door. It was on a big cushion, in all the colours of cream and amber, embroidered and tingling with gold and precious stone. It was also distinctly uncomfortable. I almost sighed. Snowcloud lied down by me, so close I could feel the warmth of her skin.

Citymaster Great Trainer Atid was seated at my left. Aspyrgend Lym was at my right. I silently thanked Vien for the arrangement, for neither is an enemy nor an antagonist. I eyed them as I took my chopsticks and perused the dishes in front of me as all other waited. I revised the food and I groaned. I would have to eat from all of them. Dongo fish and bahn knot are both heavy food and I was in no mood for it. Though I must admit I am rather partial to Atremandia’s karnataka.

 I tried to ignore the crowd, flashing with jewels and gold and silver. Everybody was decked in their finest. For all that I tried to ignore them, as is my right as a King, I still got glimpse of brocade, silk and precious stones, sparkling in the lamps' light. They would eat from my same dish, in the same order. For a King, even a little thing like choosing which food to taste first is politics. I can’t say I enjoy it.

I chose the karnataka and the roasted saola’s leg. Everybody else moved after me, to reach for the same plates. I turned toward Great Trainer Atid. He is an old Huan, so withered to be almost skeletal, whit white hair and black cunning eyes amidst a forest of wrinkles. His actions during the War had made him into a hero, but he had always seemed to me indifferent to the mantle. It is one of the reasons for which I like him.

“It is pleasant to see you, Citymaster.” I said, giving the roasted leg to Snowcloud who chewed on it happily. If Atid was disturbed by my action, he didn’t show it. He bowed his white head.

“As it is for us all to see you again, your majesty. I trust that your illness is in the past, and that you will enjoy a healthy future.” He replied, formally.

“I am… still a little perturbed, but the worst is behind me.” I replied, keeping my tone neutral. Lym snorted. She was dressed as a female Kham would in the jungle, with her flowing cloth and bare feet. Her bond ferret was curled around a chicken leg and laboriously eating from it, his dark eyes glistening.

“I am glad you are well, Demmet. There had been other Not-Things in the Jungle.” I turned my head toward her, and frowned. She had been speaking in the Khams’ tongue, and I doubted anybody save her, Vien and me could understand it. She nodded and gestured toward me with a leg bone. Like most Khams, she refused to use chopsticks.

“There are a Water Not-Thing, and a Spider Not-Thing in the Dead Stones. We may ask your help to get rid of them.” I blinked. Demons, I realized, and a cold shiver passed in my spine. The Water Demon and now a Spider Demon. The Dead Stones. My mind spun and I blinked wolfishly, trying to make sense of it all. It was still too much though, and I stopped my reluctant sampling of the bahn knot. Snowcloud stopped gnawing at bone and looked at me. She nosed my hand, and the feeling of her cold nose on my skin helped. I suddenly felt more grounded, and breathed out. I caressed my companion’s head, enjoying the sensation of her fur between my fingers.

“I shall help you, Lym. Tell the Peoples that I’ll come as soon as I can.” I smiled a little. “I have no doubts that you can take care of it for a rather long time.”

She smiled back at me, and winked. “Oh, there is no hurry. Some of the young ones are having fun hunting down the Not-Things. Many have proved their worth this way. Wouldn’t they be so… strange, we could keep them around. It is fun to meet them.” She smiled as wolves smiled, her white teeth showing.

Atid had turned to speak with Jek, on his other side, as I talked with Lym. I lowered my eyes on the food. I was not hungry. A servant came behind me, and quickly snatched the dirty plates away. My eyes widened. I recognized those hands, glowed as they were. But they had been glowed for so long, I barely remember a time when he wore them bare.

I would like to claim it was self-control that held me motionless. It was not. I was simply too shocked to move. He couldn’t have, I thought. Then, No. Of course he could. I straightened my spine and slowly moved around, as to stretch my muscles, all too aware of the subtle gazes that followed every one of my movements. I spotted him immediately. Somebody else would not have recognized the servant woman in drab brown and black as the Prophet, but I knew my friend and Dhil’a too well. He was dressed in the customary livery of the palace domestic, and, after having retired my plate, was standing demurely in the shadows. I almost glared at him, but then turned to my dongo fish, without eating it. I quested toward him, furious, without truly expecting him to heard, let alone to answer me.

_This is pure folly! What if anybody recognizes you?_

A cascade of bright sparkles sprinkled my mind as he answered, amused.

_I am always the Fool, moreso when you are involved. Nobody is going to recognize me and you need me and Snowcloud close. You said so yourself. Now, don’t act like a moron. You are gawking at your plate._

I resisted again the urge to glare and picked up the chopstick again. Before I could think a suitable answer, Atid finished his conversation with Jek and turned to me again. Suddenly, I knew there was something I could ask of him. I reached for my drink, trying a way to speak without giving away too much.

“I have heard not many news of Liantharin, lately.” I started. It was a safe and common topic. It had been so for years. The Huans knew all of what happened in Clerres. They were second only to the monks of the White Inns. Atid looked at me with piercing eyes and nodded.

“There hadn’t been any. The Iduyans, may they be destroyed, keep scourging the countryside. The last attempt to reconcile Kuan and Cong had failed, and hostilities have begun again.” I had not heard of this effort, but was not surprised. It was perhaps the tenth one, and all of them ineffective. “Kuan had tried to make pace with the Iduyans, again, as well.” This was not new tiding, neither. There had been several similar tentatives, but a successful effort by Kuan meant only that the Iduyans would concentrate their raiding on Cong’s land, and conversely any treaty between the Nomads and Cong brought ruin over Kuan, renewing the hostilities and bringing an end to the frail agreement. Only a concerted effort by both the Liantharinans’ de facto rulers could evict the Nomads from their land, if it wasn’t too late already. When Li-Hua would come to her inheritance, there may be nothing for her to reign over.

I sampled the dongo fish. Kuan had made an effort to make peace with the Iduyans. That may be how that clerk, Tre’Kato, had come into contact with the shaman now residing in the Dead Stones. Could all of this derive from an attempt of the Pretender of Liantharin? But if so, what was Kuan’s true aim? Vietmar was not an enemy. It was true that we had profited most from the fall of the once proud country, but we had not engineer it. I frowned. It made no sense, and I was tired already.

Atid’s voice tore me off of my musing.

“I heard the young man who you fostered in your castle has decided to become one of us.”

I turned to watch him and frowned. Noticing my confusion, the old Huan smiled.

“Gao, I think his name is.”

I went cold. “Gao wants to become a Huan?” I asked, incredulous. The Great Trainer nodded.

I racked my mind, panicked. How could it be? Was it because I had told him to take care of Chien? It was a fool’s decision. Had it been true of Gao, or was it of Chundra? A wave of nausea hit me. I managed with effort to keep my face blank.

“He is a bit too old for that, I fear.” I replied evenly. Most Huans start their training between the age of five and seven. Gao was ten already.

The Great Trainer shrugged with elegance, picking at his food daintily.

“He is a bit older than the usual, but I myself was of that age. It is not unheard of. We are having many children of Vietmar in our midst. He is a bright boy. He would surely find a suitable Lord, or he could stay with us to become a Great Trainer himself.”

I felt my nausea growing. Not all Huans actively serve their Lords. Some never do, and stay to become historians and scholars. Traditionally, many of them had been of Liantharinan origin. Now, it seemed a shift was happening. My mind reeled at the implication. Things lost focus. I swallowed. Then I felt something in the back of my mind and glanced at Snowcloud, but she was more interested in her food that in anything else. And the soft question I perceived was different from the touch of my wolf-dog. Then I recognized it for what it was. The nausea abated and I almost smiled, sending back to the Fool a warm flood of reassurance. My shoulders unknotted. I resolved to speak to Gao as soon as possible. I would call back the boy, and put an end to such a fancy.

The rest of the dinner was a trial to me. I was still weak from my inner wounds, but I must have recovered more than I thought. I was able thenceforth to nod politely to my dinner companions,  follow their conversations about the new young Huans and on the shifting hunting ground in the jungle, while letting my ears stray enough to pick up key bits of talk about the table. None of it was on any apparent importance. But much of what I overheard touched the problems of the Khams, the Demons and Liantharin and cast odd lights on it.

Someone commented she was glad to see new Magicians, as Skill-Users are called in Vietmar, being trained against the Demons. I overheard people claiming new persons had come from the Great Sail Fleets from the Away Kingdom, to teach people of Clerres how to use the goods they brought. Another man complained that all those barbarians shouldn’t be allowed to stay in Clerres. Many more lamented the loss of Liantharin’s good. A young man not far from me piped in, recounting the tale of some distant relatives of his but recently arrived from Liantharin as little more than skeletons and with only the clothes on their back. With no central government, the youth claimed, Liantharin had broken down, and the fabric of the country, constructed to  exist as a whole, was fast unraveling.

But none spoken of new Demons’ attack on the border, nor of fear of it. The Khams, I surmised, had kept the knowledge among themselves. It would spare me to try to calm the population. The fear of Demons ran deep amidst the people of Clerres. This, at least, was a problem I didn’t have. Yet nothing seemed to have changed from some months before. I frowned. Could that shaman be isolated, working alone for its own gain? It was possible. Shamans often travel far and wide in search of better components for their charms.

I was still weak. The dinner was called early, and, after I exchanged politeness with an endless number of people, I could rise to walk away. As I left, I could almost feel the change in the mood of the room. The people had seen me well, and on the road to a complete recovery. They would speak. Before two days had ended, all of Vietmar would know that King Chihn would soon be fit to rule again.

I sighed as I walked back to my room, Snowcloud trotting beside me and Vien behind me. I was not so sure.

When I opened the door to my quarters I breathed a sigh of relief. I longed to sleep, but the ceremonial costume was too complicated for me to take it out by myself. Snowcloud walked to the heart and curled to sleep with nary a thought. I could perceive her exhaustion. She was as tired as I was.

I allowed Vien to help me with the undressing. My Huan then bade my goodnight and retired with the clothes, to put them in order. I was dragging a nightshirt on over my head when a voice interrupted the silence.

“Are you all right?” I smiled and turned at the Fool. He had taken out his servant clothes, and was dressed in a flowing robe, adequate for sleeping. He was barefoot. His dark eyes were full of concern. He stayed close to the door, leaning on it. I nodded.

“I am tired, but well.” I confirmed, walking toward the bed. I sighed and sat on it. Its cool softness more entrenching, in that moment, that any allure of the Skill. “I just need to rest.” I added. I stretched my arm, reaching for him. He frowned and looked at me. I furrowed my brow as well and looked at him in confusion, letting my arms fall on my side. Gingerly, he walked toward the bed and sat over it, by me. I smiled and passed my arm over his shoulders. I dragged him on the bed with me. He followed me pliantly. His body curled around mine as we arranged ourselves on the mattress. We didn’t speak. He sneaked an arm around my waist, and I thought I saw his brown hand trembling a little as he drew me closer to him. I tucked his dark head under my chin, reflecting he must not have been much less tired than I was.

We slept.

 


	11. Aquamarine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated. They also make me laugh xD
> 
> The delay is my fault. I was ill the past week :( Terrible migraines.
> 
> I have begun the next part! The first chapter was rather quiet. Things are going to roll though...
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

 

** Chapter nine: Aquamarine **

 

 

_The Iduyans have always been known to Clerres. Indeed, they surround the White Land on all but one side. For all the claim of Iduyans as a single people, in truth there are thirteen tribes, each with a different language, if sharing many traditions. Every Tribe has five, seven or eleven clans, with seven being the most common._

_The head of every clan is an elder or “Ligey Shomorokh”. His is the final word in all aspects of life. Hunting leaders are “Khangitche”, and war leaders are “Tonbaia Shomorokh” (the mighty men). Women and teenagers have equal voices with men. The internal life of the community is under the control of the older women. Their decisions in those matters are indisputable._

_It is interesting to note that, for the Iduyans, a child is neither male nor female. They call children not “kai” (he) or “sai” (she) but “yõ”, as they do their shamans. A child will choose their gender coming adulthood. Since male children belong to their mother’s tribe and clan, and female children belong to their father’s tribe and clan, it is not unknown of a male choosing to be a woman in order to stay with relatives he finds more congenial. Since gender is detached by procreation and refers more on the role of the person in the tribe and clan, this practice doesn’t cause Iduyans the slightest problem. This is also the root of the tale about Iduyans' men giving birth so common in all of Clerres._

_In the beginning of every summer all clans gather together for the common celebration “Sakhadzibe”, where mutual Iduyans questions are discussed. The Sakhadzibe is always held in two “towns” which are, odd as it may seem, on the White Road. They are called the East Town and the West Town. During most of the years they are eerie places, almost empty save by some merchants and hunters. During the celebration though, they burst with life and the diverse clans and tribes. People from all of Clerres can be seen here, buying and trading. Indeed, what the Great Sail Fleet didn’t provide in the goods of the Away Kingdoms, the Sakhadzibe did._

_Odd as it may seem, the White Roads leading to the two cities used to be relatively safe during the time surrounding the clan gatherers. Not so during the other time of the years, but, as it is often the case, border towns, between the Iduyans and Liantharin, Thantres and Atremandia were used to the periodic raids of the nomads._

_The Iduyans are constantly at war between themselves, in a way not unlike the one of the various Jastyr of Atremandia. Their languages too resemble the one of both Atremandia and the nomads of Kizah, which also share most of their way of living. Some scholars have thus suggested  that both the country of Atremandia and the desert-dwelling people of Kizah are nothing but Iduyans who have accepted the White Words and Wisdom, and thus became Clerres._

_It should be noted than neither the people of Atremandia nor the ones of Kizah take the suggestion well._

_Thus had been the equilibrium for time uncounted between the nomads and Clerres. But when the Civil War broke in Liantharin, the people who used to guard the borders against the Iduyans were pulled into the internal strife, leaving the border itself barren. The Iduyans plunged in. The rest of the story is well known._

_Of all the thirteen tribes, the Chuvan, the Odul and the Khoromoy had stayed neutral in the war, avoiding the pillage and fighting on Liantharinan’s soil. The other ten, however, fight still on Clerres. Those are the Vadul-Alais, Anaoul, Lavren, Olyuben, Omok, Penjin, Khodynt, Shoromboy, Yandin and Yandyr tribes._

_It is worth noting that a few travelers have reported tales of some sort of Cataclysm that seems to have disrupted this ancestral behavior. Still, as since the beginning of the Civil War in Liantharin the communication with the Iduyans has become  even more erratic, and since the Cataclysm is believed to have happened after the beginning of the fight between Cong and Kuan, I can't vouch for the truth of this statement nor on the nature of this purported Cataclysm._

_"Notes on the Iduyans" by Great Trainer Atid_

 

 

The next day was a quiet time, if a time can be called quiet. I walked the hall of the Garden Palace. I inquired about the construction. I heard words about the coming and going in Vietmar. And I rebuild my Skill-Link with Vien.

I came in my room after the supper, to find them empty but for my Huan. Snowcloud was outside, playing with the Palace’s children. I do not know where the Fool was. Vien sat there, on a cushion, waiting. His black eyes shone quietly in the reflected light. By his elbow, a bowl full of dilute pyote’s juice. By the amount of it left in the carved, lacquered bowl, he had already sampled some.

Pyote’s juice strengthens the Skill, just like Elfbark deafen it. I have a deep mistrust for it, though Vien doesn’t share my judgment. I took a deep breath and sat in front of him. I didn’t speak. He didn’t flinch when I locked my eyes to his. We both knew it was to be done. He was King’s Man. Ever since I saved the Huans’ on the path to Thai Long, it had been so. Fleeting, I thought of a time when taking the strength of another man was an abhorrent thing for me. My lips quirked in something far from a smile. My King Verity had been right. Kings have no such respite. I breathed again, and began.

Ever since I had accepted my need to learn about the Skill, I had been marveled by how different people are in my perception of them. Chyne is methodical, cold and logical. Bitter Moon is as warm and as dangerous as the ocean in a hot day. Vien is like neither. His mind is elusive and iridescent. He resists possession, and yet he shares with me more than either of my other Solos. I have never pressured him for reasons. He gives me more than enough.

I reached for him, and found him reaching for me, as well. He let me lead, as we built slowly the Skill-Link to its previous strength, layer upon layer. It was hard work. It is always difficult to compare the use of the Skill, or of the Wit, to anything else, but it was almost like threading threads on a loom, to create a fabric. I kept myself apart, resisting the allure of the magic we were using. The pleasure of the Skill has not lessen in all the years I have been using it, but in recent times I had found easier and easier to resist it. How it is so, I don’t know.

As I worked, something kept nagging at me, like a thought half-forgotten. Something about a Skill-Link. Something important. Not with my Solos, not even with the people I had left at home. I used to have links with Dutiful and Chade. But those links had withered to a point that cutting them had been easy, like breaking a deadwood branch. And I had never had other Skill-Link. I was never linked to Galen’s Coterie, thanks Eda. It bothered me, that I could not remember it. Yet as I worked my link with my Huan to an approximation of its previous strength, a nameless dread grew in me, stiffening my body in the ancient answer to threat. Something forgotten. Perhaps, if what I felt was any indication, something best left forgotten.

The distressing thought, the fear without a name delayed my work. It was first afternoon when we began, and full dusk when we finished.

The pure relief that washed over me at having again a Skill-Link was as unexpected at it was welcome. I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation. Connection. I breathed out. A hint of a Skill headache throbbed in my temple. A mere shadow of the pain I used to suffer, easily ignored. I nodded at Vien who staggered on his feet, as tired as I was. He bowed at me. I massaged my forehead and smiled ruefully, trying to cast the dread away, like a wolf or a dog would shrug away water from their coats.

“I wanted to inform you, my Lord. Chyne had found a little girl with enough talent for the Skill in a coastal family of lesser nobility.”

This was important news. I raised my head to Vien who was lightening the lamps in the chamber, still a little unsteady on his feet.

“How old is she? What is her House?” I asked, frowning.

My Huan shrugged gracefully, lightening the last lamp. The oily light casted dancing shadows over the walls. The walls were carved and inlaid with the omnipresent ambers, and thin sheet of amber were the panels of the lamp themselves. I have always liked the golden light they cast. Outside, a storm raged, battering the walls of the Garden Palace. Lightning and thunder illuminated and rumbled in the sky.

“She is of six, almost seven years. Her name is Tü Ly Thi Quy.” I nodded. Tü is one of the lower titles, and the lowest to come with lands. There are sixty-four Tü families. Some have riches. Most though, have less of it than several merchants’ Houses. I waited. If I knew my Huan, Vien had already learnt much more on the child’s House. I was not dissatisfied.

Vien went from my quarter, and brought back an infusion of herb to quench my headache. I inhaled the warm vapor. Willow tea, and honey trickled my nostrils. I drank slowly.

“One of her fathers and her mother are dead. The surviving father has the title: lord of Lụcngọc. But the title is little more than words. Lụcngọc is a tiny holding, a beggar’s fiefdom. There is a manor house there, but it is barely habitable. They have almost no servants, only two elderly couples, as far as Chyne knows. But the girl has a strong enough Skill. And she is of Noble birth.”

Vien folded his hands into his sleeves and waited. I listened to the storm outside. A terrible fatigue engulfed me. Here I was, about to take a child, a little girl, all that her father was left with, away from her family. All because the Kingdom needed her. I bowed my head, searching into the tea an answer I knew I wouldn’t find. My mouth was parched. We all repeat the error of our forebears, the White Philosophy says. But Chade had not taken Nettle away from Molly.

And had that, in the end, be truly the wisest course of action?

The thought sneaked into my mind, unwelcomed and undesired. I handled it carefully, for it was sharp enough to kill me. Throughout my youth, I had always asserted that what I truly wanted was to live a life where I could make my own choices, independent of the “duties” of my birth and position. And don’t we all want for our children what we ourselves had been denied? But the choice of one is not the choice of another. In my stubbornness on keeping Nettle away from the Farseer I condemned Dutiful to loneliness, and Nettle to ignorance. Also, that man was not me. And I had long since learnt that you must not measure another wheat with your bushel.

I sighed. The Skill-headache was growing, in spite of the drugs. The only sounds in the room were the rain outside and the fire in the heart.

I stood up and turned to Vien. I winced. My legs cramped. I had been sitting cross-legged too long, and my mismatched muscles complained. I gritted my teeth not to moan. It felt like the lightening was passing through me. The contraction didn’t abate. I trembled. Vien averted his eyes. He knew better than trying to help me. Once, when I had those pains, he would help me massage where I could not reach myself. The back of my legs. My back. But now the touch of other people is unbearable to me.

After a while, I spoke, through clenched teeth. “I want to speak with the child’s father, and with the child herself. Bring both to me.” I took a deep breath. Vien nodded, bowed and turned. “And bring me the aconite ointment.” I added. Without another word, my Huan left. I inched my way, carefully, toward the bed amidst pain. I would talk to the child’s father, and with the child herself.

Then, I would choose.

I started massaging my legs, breathing slowly, trying to move and relax the muscles. Tears prickled my eyes. I did not let them fall. I hunched down, massaging with care my calf. The torment wretched a sob from me.

“Fitz? What is happening?” I straightened my back so fast, I feared to give myself injury. He had always been able to surprise me. Our Wit-bond hasn’t changed that fact.

The Fool was still dressed in the common robe of a servant woman. A black gown over his slender bare feet, and a tunic in soft brown that tied in the front. The simple garment was made a livery by the embroidery in the hems, in a soft cream colour. His auburn hair was tied behind his head, and kept there by means of a brown, embroidered band. The hairstyle showed the gracefulness of his neck and shoulders and enhanced his fine features. His large eyes looked at me with concern.

I smiled in spite of my pain. “You make a more convincing servant than I ever did.” I commented, reminiscing of a time I attempted the same role. An amused smile quirked his lips.

“Thank you. You should know that no role is beyond me.” He said, with a touch of his usual flippancy. My smile grew before a cramp made me grimace.

His brow furrowed. I sighed.

“It is just… an old problem. I have strong cramps. It pains me sometimes.” I replied, wishing that he would not press the issue. A hollow hope.

He frowned some more.

“I have never known of you having cramps.” He commented, gliding on the wooden floor.

I was saved by a knock on the wooden door. Vien slipped in, followed by a very proud Snowcloud. She had a whole pig front leg in her jaw, raw and fresh, but skinned. She turned her merry blue eyes to me.

_Hello, brother mine. See what I stole?_ She wagged her tail proudly. I smiled, bemused. She could go in any kitchen and be feed, but she takes a strange pleasure in stealing food from the cooks, possibly without being noticed. She trotted proudly to the fireplace, curled on herself and started chewing the meat off the bone, her tail wagging continuously.

_I see. A difficult task, I suppose._ She stopped eating and lolled her tongue at me.

_Very. You should see how I made that pile of bowls fall just so, and how I, daringly, flashed past the undercook legs to grab at my chosen prey!_ She barked a little. Her tail was wagging even more, if it was possible. I couldn’t help but chuckle. My quiet laugh was echoed by the Fool’s one. I glanced at him, and by the way he looked, amused and fond, at Snowcloud, I knew he had heard too. The pleasure of our shared connection was such that, for a moment, I forgot the pain of my body.

Then a cramp hit me, passing from my calf to my neck. I couldn’t stop the moan.

Vien barely glanced at me and at the Prophet. He put the lidded pot with the ointment on the low table, close to the bed I was sitting on, bowed and left. I had no time to be troubled by his hasty departure. My vision was spotted with pain, and I was too busy breathing through clenched teeth, trying not to disgrace myself any further.

When I recovered enough to wonder what my friend was up to, I found him kneeling by the table, the lid of the pot in one hand, smelling the mixture. He wrinkled his nose.

“Aconite? It is very poisonous, Fitz.” I wanted to nod, but thought better of it.

“I know. But it is the best to relax muscles. It abates pain.” I reply, quietly. I attempted to stand up, but an excruciating pain stopped me short. I gasped.

Snowcloud bolted from her place and sustained me on my right. The Prophet passed his arm carefully behind my shoulders. I clenched my teeth and completed the movement. I slowly disrobed, taking away my too-complicated trousers and robe and the belt with the tingling amber beads and golden disks that hung to half of my thigh.

When I was left with the loincloth that in Vietmar is called “fun-oshi” I sat again. I tried to smile at my bond companions in way of thanks, but the pain were growing steadily worse. I dipped my hand in the ointment and started to spread it on my left calf, gritting my teeth. The Fool, who had been supporting me in silence as I disrobed, dropped to his knees. He took some salve and began working on my right leg. The gesture was so startling that I stopped, gaping at him. It was strange and beyond strange to see him on his knees, laboriously massaging the mixture in my agonized muscles.

All my knowledge of the way of the Ancient Whites rebelled against having my Dhil'a at my feet, kneeling. It was unsettling. It felt wrong.

He rose an eyebrow to me, but said nothing, keeping to his work. There was a stubborn set on his jaw. I was about to speak to him, to tell him to stop, when Snowcloud’s words whispered in my mind, to be shared with me alone.

_He wants to help you, brother mine. To reduce your pain. As I would, had I hands. Which I don’t. Not that I miss the appendages per se, but I must admit they have their uses. Let him be._

I glanced at my friend and went back to work.

“Thank you, Keppet.” I whispered. He smiled slightly at me, but said nothing. The rain, omnipresent in the season whence it takes its name, kept pouring from the sky. It was a soothing sound. The perceived coldness of the weather made the room, with its merry fire and golden light, all the more warm and welcome. Snowcloud went back at her stolen prize, and my Keppet was with me. All was well in the World. I felt myself relaxing, and my muscles eased.

With his help it was a much easier work. The warmth of the ointment eased my tormented muscles and I could breathe again. We had finished in a short time my legs and shoulders. He touched slightly my chest. I lowered my eyes, to see what he was pointing at. A scar, four parallel lines, ran on the left side of my chest. It was still red. His hands were not gloved. The palm had the same colouring as the rest of his skin, a warm, pleasant, tawny chestnut hue. Something was missing on his finger. I did not know what, for he had all of them, and they seemed normal. Long, graceful and fine-boned, the hand of an artist or a musician. Yet, as I gazed at it, I felt the nameless dread, forgotten before, return tenfold. My wrist twitched. I swallowed.

“A demon, some two years ago.” I elaborated at his silent question. I quirked a smile, as I started to anoint  my arm. “You aren’t the only one that aimed at my heart.” I joked. He stilled for a second, and I wondered if I had given him offense. But then he chuckled and gestured with his chin to the bed.

“Lie down. I’ll do your back.” I smiled at him and sent my gratitude and love through our link, even as I wondered if he would feel them. He blinked and flushed, his dark cheeks becoming the colour of mahogany. He averted his eyes and turned his head. My own smiled broadened. He had.

“It is my pleasure, Beloved.” He said, softly. I smiled and laid down.

_Awwwh, human courting behavior. You are so sweet, brothers mine._

I hid my face in the coverlet. I don’t know what the Fool did.

_Snowcloud, did I ever tell you about staying away from my… “courting behavior”?_

_Not that I recall, no._ I could feel her merriment. At our expense.

_Then can you please stay out of it?_

_Easy answer. No._

I groaned.

The Fool started chuckling. The sound was so breathtaking, like silver bells and summer and friendship and childhood that I couldn’t help but laugh as well, my face still hidden by my arm and the bed. We laughed, without seeing each other. Then my friend sat astride me and started to anoint my back. He worked carefully, massaging the cramped muscles till they relaxed, the oil penetrating deep into my skin and warming me. He worked around the old scar from the arrow, on occasion putting his weight behind it. I sighed in pleasure. I thought he had renounced to know why my body hurt me so. Alas, I had no such luck.

“So, how had it happened?”

I groaned inwardly. I did not want to give him the knowledge. I laid silent.

“Fitz?”

I sighed.

“When I… changed, not all of me did.” I said, my forehead on my forearm, speaking to the silken coverlet. “The changing is not… easy. My mind passed through unscathed. Mostly.” I added, wryly. “But my body… My bones have changed. Now they connect at odd angles. But my muscles have not, or not enough. Sometimes, it pains me.”

As I spoke, his hand stilled over my skin. I could feel him, his weight on me and his presence shimmering in the back of myself. I bit my lips. I knew he gave himself faults that were not his. I reached behind me with my hand, and grasped one of his, motionless now.

“This is what Prilkop feared.” His words surprised me. But I did not move, not to dislodge him. I glanced back at him.

“His own Catalyst… She died of the change. He feared the same for me. And you. He told me that, when Prophet and a Catalyst grow close it may happen.” He elaborated. I snorted and closed my eyes again. “Too late he was, to part us.” I commented, as he resumed his work on my back. I sighed in bliss. I think I would have given away all the rest of the world, just to remain in the drowsy nest of tousled blankets and feather quilts, breathing, his hands charming the pain away. Vien had used to do the same before, but it was not the same. I couldn’t grasp the difference, only that there was one.

I relaxed so that I must have drifted during the massage. For next thing, I dreamed…


	12. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sadly unbetaed, all mistakes are mine!
> 
> I am having a spot of writer block this week alas. I am really breaking my head about the next part. Ugh. Well, we shall see :)
> 
> To Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

**_Interlude_ **

_The forest cover the plain, trees packed together like jumbled weed. Pines and spruces and firs. Maples and birches. Hickory and oaks. Hardly trees, for in the Time of Ice is not more tender with them than with animals. But trees, nevertheless._

_The sun is high in the blue sky. Summer has given up to Autumn, and the trees of maples and birches are falling in a riot of colour as a farewell to warmth. Bears feast on berries and fishes over the creeks. A thousand of squirrels pack their nest with nuts. Bucks bell their challenge and fight to mate while the doves look at them with their dark, liquid eyes._

_Life brims everywhere._

_Amidst many, three figures move._

_Two of them walk upright, and are covered in other animals' furs. One of the two, with straw-coloured hair, is by far more covered than the other whose hair is the gray-blue shade of some stone. The third moves on four strong paw, and his fur, long and warm and spotted, is his own._

_The blonde man looks up again, eyeing the canopy of needles and leaves upon his head. His movements are quirky, almost spooked. Grey eyes in a scarred faces scans every shadows in the wood, trying to look past the trucks._

_Flint worries his lip with his teeth and sighs._

_The second upright figure merely smiles. He walks confidently, his movements relaxed yet precise. He is smaller than the second man, coming perhaps to his shoulders, and slenderer beside. Long limbed and long boned. His eyes are bigger in his face, and his teeth as he shows them in the smile are different as well. Sharper, and not locking as well as Flint's one. His hair is finer, as well, and when a wisp of wind brings them away, there is nothing where the ears should be._

_"Still nervous, Dhil'a?"_

_There is a hint of teasing in Vanyel's words. Flint glares at him and huffs._

_"All those... Trees. They aren't natural." The petulance in the blonde man makes the gray one smiles. "Laugh, Vanyel, but everything could be hidden behind them."_

_The White smiles again. "In case, you would feel it." He countered. "Wouldn't you?" He adds, jokingly as Flint hesitates. Unwilling to concede, the taller man shrugs and marches on._

_Vanyel chuckles and follows his dhil'a._

____

_The sky is dark, with a gibbous moon and millions of stars illuminating the earth below. The woods whisper as the needles and the rustling leaves move in the soft wind. The howls hot somewhere in the branches, and small animals scuttle about in fear. Far away, a pack of wolves sings its dominance._

_A small star burn in the soft ground. Around the campfire a big leopard licks his paws clear of the blood, far from the warmth of the heart. Over it, a spit turns slowly, turned by a slender figured perched nearby. Noises of wood against wood and rustles of leather came from just outside the camplight. Neither the White nor the Leopard stir._

_Flint comes back, the tent perched neatly and sit cross legged by the fire. His chest is bare, and the scar covering half of his face continues over his shoulder and the upper part of his chest, the skin corrugated from the ancient burn. He wipes sweat from his forehead._

_"It is too hot. I can't understand how you stand the fire." He complains, shaking his head. Vanyel smiles._

_"My people don't like cold." He says quietly. Flint stops and looks at the White. Vanyel's mouth is a tight line._

_The human awaits, in silence, caressing Whiteclaw soft fur._

_Vanyel sighs and speaks to the fire._

_"We are dying, Flint. And we know of it. We See a World with no Ieldras in it. It is too cold for us. And it is getting colder."_

_Vanyel's voice is barely a whisper. His back is at his Dhil'a. He speaks to the fire, not to Flint. But Flint listens._

_"But we can save them." The human says, with confidence. Vanyel's only answer is a clipped head shake. Flint frowns._

_"You once told me we were to save my people, and yours."_

_Vanyel's mouth twists into something that is, and not, a smile._

_"Ah. I said it. And it is true, in part. Your people is to be my people, Dhil'amin, and our people shall survive the Ice."_

_Flint looks at Vanyel, but he speaks no more. The White sighs heavily and Flint extend his hand to caress behind his hair, stroking gently the soft plumes._

_Vanyel still doesn't turn, but he leans on the touch._

_The forest around brims with life under the dotted sky._

____

_The ancient city rests eternally._

_The street, spirals and circle, are empty. The buildings, circular rooms one on top of another, are silent. No animals, no plants make den into the place, archaic even in an antique World. Bright mosaic still graces the walls, repetitive patterns of stars and suns and spirals. Image of flight._

_The once-city reposes in a vale between two hills. The forest covers the hill. A sprinkle of early snow covers the forest. The sky above is cloudy, heavy with more snow to come. The light comes from everywhere and nowhere at once._

_"Vanyel! Vanyel would you look at this!"_

_The shrill voice breaks the silence._

_A man from the top of the hill looks in disbelief at the city. He has a name for it, for Vanyel taught so to him in the winter nights of their childhood, but his round, gray eyes shows how little of it he understood._

_Whiteclaw growls. His tail slashes the air. Flint puts his hand over his companion's head and shake his own in disbelief._

_Vanyel looks at Flint, and smiles._

_"Yes. This is one of the cities of my people. They are all dead now." He explains, and his voice is detached. Flint's eyes mist over. He turns to Vanyel, suprised._

_"All dead?" Silence fills the pause. "The cold?"_

_Vanyel nods._

_"Only three cities of my people stands. It was four when I came to you."_

_Flint frowns and looks at the place. His eyes map the street and the building and the colours and melancholy dawn in them._

_"I am sorry."_

_Vanyel looks at Flint, surprised. "What for? It has been. The time for pain is gone."_

_Flint doesn't answer. He glances at Vanyel, and the differences between the tall, strong man and the slim, slender White have never been starker._

_Flint sighs. "There are no plants. No animals."_

_Vanyel nods. "Yes. We put magic in our cities, to protect it from the beasts when we are wandering away." Vanyel pauses. "Come. I want to be on the other side of those hills before it start snowing again."_

_Flint and Whiteclaw look at the city one last time. Then the man nods, and they walk away._

_It is only the taller man who turns to look at the desert place. Vanyel marches on, with no care for the past._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For who is interested I HAVE A SNEAK PEAK OF ASSASSIN'S APPRENTICE :D
> 
> Anybody who wants to read it tell me :D


	13. Bruise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is sadly unbetaed, all mistakes are mine! I hope my beta will be back soon, in the meantime I am sorry :(
> 
> Seems I have broken the writer's block! :D
> 
> To Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

 

** Chapter Ten: Bruise **

_I asked my last question, my heart squeezed with hurt, dreading however he might answer it. “And if I said I would follow you, then? Leave my other life behind and go with you.”_

_I think that question stunned him. He drew breath twice before he answered it in a hoarse whisper. “I would not allow it. I could not allow it.”_

_We sat a long time in silence after that. The fire consumed itself. And then I asked the final, awful question. “After I leave you here, will I ever see you again?”_

_“Probably not. It would not be wise.” He lifted my hand and tenderly kissed the sword-callused palm of it, and then held it in both of his. It was farewell, and I knew it, and knew I could do nothing to stop it. I sat still, feeling as if I grew hollow and cold, as if Nighteyes were dying all over again. I was losing him. He was withdrawing from my life and I felt as though I were bleeding to death, my life trickling out of me. I suddenly realized how close to true that was._

_“Stop!” I cried, but it was too late. He released my hand before I could snatch it back. My wrist was clean and bare. His fingerprints were gone. Somehow, he had taken them back, and our Skill-thread dangled, broken._

_“I have to let you go,” he said in a cracked whisper. “While I can. Leave me that, Fitz. That I broke the bond. That I did not take what was not mine.”_

_I groped for him. I could see him, but I could not feel him. No Wit, no Skill, no scent. No Fool. The companion of my childhood, the friend of my youth, was gone. He had turned that facet of himself away from me. A brown-skinned man with hazel eyes looked at me sympathetically._

_“You cannot do this to me,” I said._

I woke screaming.

 I had done so a score of time in my life, and in the last moon. But this time, the scream would not stop. Tears misted my sight and wetted the pillow. My voice grew hoarse.

It didn't matter. I screamed.

Snowcloud ran around the bed, baying and yapping. I fear I flung out, with Skill and Wit. I know I felt Snowcloud, my companion, my sister, retreat for me in bewilderment. I was too much of a maelstrom of emotions and pain for her to do anything about. She howled, and her pain echoed mine.

I heard steps. The scream had died to a pained choke. I screamed so much I heaved, retching heavily on the coverlet. I scrambled out of the soiled bed, choking and gasping, crawling on the floor. And still I screamed and wept. I couldn't stop. My throat burned. My chest and gut were a tight, painful knot. My mouth was scorched with the taste of vomit.

Once I had felt such a pain, the day my Skill showed me that the woman I called my wife would be so of someone else, and my child would call father another man. Then I went as a fool to give the memory and the agony to a stone-dragon, for I could not bear them. My Keppet gave it back to me, all of it, many years afterwards. He made me whole. I thought I had learnt the lesson. To give pain away is to lessen yourself. But in that moment, as the last of my memories flowed into me, I desired with a wild intensity for memory stone, to give away that knowledge and the pain it brought. But I had none. And I had to bear it, for all that it felt like the crushing weight of the Behit's mountains was on me.

The door opened with a crash. I didn't look up. Vien. I knew it was Vien. With somebody else. With...

I stood up so fast I almost gave myself injury. My eyes looked without seeing at the Prophet. He was still dressed as a servant, in a simple garb that still suited him well. Dimly I realized it was not even in the late evening. I had been so tired, I had slept before dinner could be served. I trembled like I hadn't since the days of my seizures. For a moment, I wondered if I wasn't going to have one, after all. But no. Not even the small mercy of losing myself inside my own illness was left to me. 

Left. He had left me. He had cut our bond. He...

I realized belatedly that they were speaking. I ignored it. Their questions, their worried words were not important. I looked at the Prophet. He came closer and tried to put his hand on my shoulder, to embrace me as he had so often in the months of my absence.

A surge of panic so strong it made Snowcloud recoil hit me. My wolf-dog howled. I jerked away. The Prophet looked at me, bewildered. His cinnamon eyes met mine. I knew how much fear my gaze held. Astonished, he halted.

"How could you do it to me?" I demanded, before he could speak himself. He blinked. I was still trembling. My voice was little more than a croak. He knitted his brow in consternation.

"How could you do it to me?" I asked again. His gaze fell on my hands. He swallowed. I dropped my eyes as well. I was clutching my wrist so hard my left fingers were white. I had not felt it. With conscious effort, I pried my own fingers away from my flesh. I swallowed against my burning throat.

"Fitz... I..." His voice trailed away. "It is about the Skill-Bond, isn't it?"

I regarded him as I hadn't since we were both children, like he was a moron beside a fool. Vien was quite forgotten. The room was dark. The fire was down to embers. Only one lamp shone with oily light. Both did little more than give the shadows more depth. The sweet smell of incense was lost amidst the acrid reek of vomit. Snowcloud paced restlessly, between me and the Fool, making little, distraught sounds, a streak of white in a world of dark gold and black.

The Prophet was looking at me with an expression I could not fathom. Dread, perhaps. I saw the tip of his tongue for a second. As we waited, looking at one other, I felt my pain cooling into anger. Suddenly, that he did not know the pain he had given me seemed too monstrous an injustice. He had hurt me. He had to know. I could not let him speak. It was my turn for words.

"You broke the Skill-bond." The voice that came from my mouth was low, and clear, and hollow. It didn't sound like mine at all. For a moment, hearing myself thusly, I felt fear again. But it was too late to stop now. A man can not throw a pebble in a gull, but no man can stop an avalanche.

"Do you know how that hurt me? How much of myself you broke that day?" My anger chocked me. I forced it down with clenched teeth. The Prophet swayed where he stood, like a sapling tasting the axe. I could not stop. I was too far beyond stopping. I went on. "You asked my forgiveness for your use of me as a Catalyst. Fool." It was the first time I used it as a word and not as a name. "Twasn't something you should apologize for. You had right to use me. You have right to use me. And then..." My voice faltered. Snowcloud whined for me. "You throw me away. But I had finished my task, had I not? The Dragons fled in the World. You needen't your puppet anymore. You could cut the strings and threw it away." His eyes slowly grew as I spoke, 'till they seemed to cover half of his face. He looked so much like the Ancient Whites that my heart ached in my chest. I choked once more. My hands opened and closed at my side. Our bond thrummed with pain and bewilderment. A kaleidoscope of lights and shadows and disjointed melodies twirled in the back of my mind. It almost drowned me. I blocked it at most that I could.

He opened his mouth, but again I left him no time to speak. My words rushed out of me, like the water after the thaw, flooding all that came afore them in a icy embrace. "What haven't I given to you? My house. My people. My life. My humanity. All those are yours to take. But you..." Darkness threatened to swallow me. Like a drowning man wobbling amidst the waves I resurfaced again. I swallowed down. I forced my muscle to unwind and looked at him to see him.

He had said nothing as I spoke. Perhaps he knew there was nothing he could say. He stood, trembling. He was not looking at me. Rather, he was looking at something far behind me. Or perhaps inside himself. His dark skin had a grayish hue, the colour of dead wood. His breath sounded labored in the sudden silence. I tried to meet his eyes. There was one last thing I needed to say. And he would hear it.

His tormented gaze almost made me falter in my resolution. I had not seen him so since the night he woke from a dream that was not a dream, to tell me he had had a nightmare of the Pale Woman coming from the Skill-Pillar to take him again. But my mouth opened before I could stop myself. How often this happens to men.

"I love you. I always have. I always will." His own words, echoed to him. I didn't think he could pale more, but he proved me wrong. "But you left. You took yourself away from me. Do not forget what I cannot forgive." My voice was so thigh it choked me. I almost told him of the ancient time, of how I could have claimed my right to cut my Dhil'a bond to him, to wait for another to be born to be mine in his stead. I did not. I don't know why.

I turned to Vien suddenly. I couldn't watch my Keppet as I hurt him. Even knowing how much of a coward that made me. Shame trickled past the tangle of anger and hurt. I pushed all of it away.

"Vien, tell Citymaster Atid that I am going to the City Hall for some study." I added, coldly, in the language of Vietmar. My Huan alarmed eyes met mine. Vien couldn't understand what we had said, spoken in a tongue half a World away. But tones and postures are the same for all the people of the World, and he had learnt to judge them well.

He hesitated. I walked past my stricken Keppet. I marched out, walking into my dressing room.

I put my forehead on the cool wood. Pain flared still inside me. I could not breath save in short, shallow gasps. For a wild moment I wished for my Dhil'a arms around me, for his chest to hide my face in. Then I brushed my tears away and selected an appropriate robe.

I had a visit to make.

 

I do not remember how I got dressed, nor how I reached the Great Trainer Hall. Anger and pain warred in me. There is strength in them I have found, not unlike in charris seeds. And, not unlike charris seeds, it is a strength best not used.

I remember dismounting from Toiden in the stable of the Great Trainer Hall and handing the rein to a wide-eyed stable hand. I strode the corridors, unmindful of their beauty. The Great Trainers had always been the second place in Clerres to store knowledge, the first being the White Library in Behit. But if the White Monks concern themselves with the futures, the Great Trainers mind about the present becoming the past. For more than two thousand years they have kept the records of the Lords the Huans served. Too much of it had been lost in the Sack of Lhansa, but most survived. When the Great Trainers' came to Vietmar one of my first edict as a King had been to donate them one of my own palaces, located in Dushanbe. And when I came to Waitan, the Great Trainers surprised me by asking leave to put their own Hall into the newly founded city of Silvarin. I accepted it. It did not endear me to the other royalties of Clerres, for it was too clear a sign that the Great Trainers would reside in Vietmar beyond the war. But, as I was not loved to begin with, I cared little for their words.

The Great Trainer Hall is no less in construction than the Amber Castle or the Garden Palace. Yet it too shows signs of beauty. It is a heptagon, divided in seven triangles. I suspect it has something to do with the Huans' system of archive, but Huans are no more forthcoming about themselves than White Monks are. I had been there already, to meet with Atid or other Great Trainers. I know of two more: Great Trainers Khoang and Dath. Despise being masters of diplomacy, I have always feel oddly at ease with them. Most Great Trainers have left behind the day to day drudgery of ruling, or helping to rule, in favor of a life as scholars and literates. As such, their Hall is made to remind people of peace and quiet.

I was led in a complicated maze of corridors by a Huan child of perhaps ten years. Looking at him made me remember of Gao. I sighed. Another problem I would have to deal with. The hallways were artistically decorated with statues, potted flowers and tapestries. The wooden panels carved with all the styles that can be found in Clerres. The light from the lamps led to the place a eerie quality. I didn't even try to remember the path.

The center of the heptagon is a circle garden. The Central Garden is a representation of calm and quiet, a place to rest the mind and the body. Flowers bloom. Evergreen, lovingly tended, almost shine. Stones are carefully placed inside sand racked in flowing line, where the mind can lose itself. I walked over a wooden bridge. I rested my hand on the carved banister and gazed at the colourful koi carps darting in the clear water beneath me. The lamplights strategically placed illuminated softly the garden. Crickets played their ancient song. The stars glistened above in the clear night. A rare threat in the Rain Season, but I was too wound up to care. Roses and orchids bloomed. My eyes followed the roses. White, pink, red, yellow flowers blended harmoniously. A particular blossom attracted my attention. It was of a deep, soft brown. I looked at it, and remembered a conversation long ago.

I felt myself relaxing almost against myself. The confrontation replayed in my mind as I turned my eyes to gaze at my reflection in the dark water. Slowly the realization of what happened seeped in me, like water seeps inside the earth. I cringed and groaned, crossing my arms on the banister and lowering my forehead over them. I closed my eyes, nausea overcoming me again. Would I ever learn? He had hurt me deeply by leaving me. Deeper still in cutting our Skill-Bond. But I had thrown my anger and hurt at him like a throwing knife, to make him feel my pain. And in fairness I doubted he knew how much the ancient act would give me harm.

The pain in my heart took a different flavour. It was the pain of knowing what Chade had told me so often; that saying I was sorry could not always mend everything. I greatly feared that the damage I had done today was not something I could repair. If he had hated me before, now his hatred would increase tenfold. The thought made all the blood leave my skin. I shivered in cold and misery.

I squeezed my eyes shut, listening to the water dripping and the crickets chirping all around me. My Wit made me feel the ripples of the fishes' lives in the water, and the sparkling of the insects all around. Those endless notes of the symphony of life were as calming to my Wit as the water and cricket's sounds were to my ears. I sighed deeply. I did not dare to test my bond with the Fool. As a coward, I feared what I may find.

I quested toward Snowcloud. I could not find her. I blinked. A surge of panic quickly rising in me.

_No need to react like a puppy who lost his mother, brother mine. I am with the little brother._

I blinked again.

_With..._

_With the Scentless One. He needs me now. I won't tell you what you need instead, brother mine, because I think you know already._

Her mental tone conveyed her disapproval of me so strongly that I cringed from it. I hung my head in shame.

_Good. See you later, brother mine. Please, be a little less stupid next time._

Our connection faded. I licked my lips, feeling thoroughly miserable. Even Snowcloud deplored me. Truly, I had rarely fallen so low.

I was aware of Great Trainer Atid arrival by my Wit. I composed myself. King Chihn could not show FitzChivalry's struggles. The old Huan was dressed in a silken flowing cassock in light cream and cinnamon. He bowed deeply at me.

"King Chihn. May you have long life and prosperity." His formal salute in the language of Vietmar cooled me like a bucket of water. I breathed in and squared my shoulders.

"And to you, Citymaster Great Trainer Atid. " I cut the pleasantries. I was in no mood for it. "I came with a request. I ask to see the archive regarding the Tü House called Ly, lords of Lụcngọc. They should have swore fealty to either the B[ă](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wen_\(surname\)) House Phang or the B[ă](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wen_\(surname\)) House Thảo."

The Huan's eyebrows rose a little, his only show of surprise to my bluntness. He nodded, impassible. "That is easy enough to do, your Majesty. I'll show you the way personally." His voice was pleasant, as many Huans' voices are. I nodded, casting a regretful glance at the peaceful garden.

Then I followed him.

We went back at the maze of corridors. It was some minute of twists and turns before he spoke again.

"It is strange that you have come now, King Chihn. We had but recently a visitor who begged us to help her achieve a hearing with you."

I frowned. "Who?"

"The heir of a merchant house of Fisil, that I know. Suen Bright Jade." The Great Trainer's voice was suave and neutral, but I did not believe for a single moment that he had not heard of what all of Clerres believe to be Ghuozi's execution.

"I would speak with her, Citymaster. In the morrow." I replied, my voice formal as his had been. The Huan stopped in the end in front of a door, lacquered in a bright, sunlike yellow. With a bow, he opened it.

Inside, the room was light by a few lamps, as the corridors had been. My eyes, already used to the dimness, could distinguish a space ample enough to be a weapon court, wouldn't it be so covered with bookcases and shelves. At our left, a small, plump Huan rose hastily from the desk where he was writing and bowed so deeply that his headdress fell from his round black head to the tiled ground with a tickling of beads. Great Trainer Atid sighed.

"Wao, His Majesty King Chihn desire to view the archive regarding the Tü House called Ly, lords of Lụcngọc."

The Huan nodded, recovering his headdress and putting it back where it belonged. Not well, for the black cap ornaments were all a jangle, and the angle was wrong beside. In spite of everything, I had to suppress a smile. The Huan's face was well enough, I had no desire to add to his humiliation. I politely averted my eyes.

"Ah, yes. The would be direct vassal of B[ă](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wen_\(surname\)) House Thảo. Follow me, your Majesty, sir. I would be glad to show you." I nodded. I exchanged some more customary greetings with the Great Trainer. I was about to follow Wao, when Atid turned again to me.

"Ah, Your Majesty... I would like to let you know that the... small matter with Huan Dihn had been cared for." His voice was carefully neutral, the words said as an afterthought. Yet I almost frowned. I knew of no matters pertaining Dihn, Huan of my late King Brother. Nonetheless I nodded. It does no good to a King, to admit ignorance.

"I had always trusted your judgment, Great Trainer." I replied, formally. Atid bowed once more, and left. I looked at the lacquered door closed behind him, and wondered. Then I followed the small Huan into his domain.

The archive was evidently well ordered. It took the little man few time to came back with a score of parchments and papers, pertaining the House of the Skilled noble child. I poured over them, trying to forget my ills. Clerres written language is difficult for foreigners to master. It is very nearly the same in all of Clerres, as well, even if the spoken languages varies wildly. Dhevron's runes are not the same as Liantharin ones, but they are similar enough that one knowledgeable in one of the two systems can make the general sense of a written document in the other. I have always liked it. It is said that no Huan leave the Great Trainer Hall without knowing more than fifty thousand runes. I don't know that many, but I know as much as any other Lord or King of the White Land.

I learnt that House Tü Ly used to be prosperous. Differently from most Houses of Western Clerres, it had a military past, having once distinguished itself in fighting against the pirates that used to plague the gulf of Dushanbe. For this, they had been given the honor of a manor with a Jewel-Name itself: Lụcngọc is the ancient Vietmar's name for the stone aquamarine. But the House had lost much of its standing in the last two century, and was not reduced to a tenth of its previous power and wealth. For the past two generation, no member of Tü Ly's House had been present in court, lacking both the standing and the money to avoid losing face in doing so. That would account for why I had never heard of them.

The next scroll was a deed of adoption. This did not surprised me. The law claims that only two brothers or two cousins can marry a woman; a man with no adequate brother or cousin would ask his parents to adopt a friend as a brother. So the parents of Ly Durc Khiem adopted Bloodstone Kaan of the Away Kingdom, who took the name of Ly Dámáu Kaan. Soon later, they married the daughter of another Tü House. Their daughter was born not one year later.

I frowned. Bloodstone Kaan. I stared at the name, as the reason for the child's Skill became apparent to me. That a man from the side of the World I had been born in would come to Vietmar was not strange. Unusual once, perhaps, but in the last ten years more and more had made the travel. That a man from the Out Island would accept the Vietnamar custom of two men marrying a woman posed no difficulties, neither.

So it was that the Skill had flourished in the coast of Clerres.

A couple of hours had already passed. I put aside the documents. My sight misted, the words jumbling together and losing their edge. My head felt as full of wool. I sighed and massaged my forehead with the palm of my hand. Nothing of this told me anything about the little girl, nor her living father. If he wasn't a fool he had already understood that his daughter could very well be chosen as the next queen of Vietmar. A great step, from such a humble beginning.

My eyes rested on the back of the books. Endless books. Row and row of them. There was no sound in the room. I was alone with myself. Just then it was not a company I was pleased to keep. I felt stretched. I squinted and tried to make the World taking shapes again.

I turned, feeling Wao approaching. The small Huan bowed deeply; this time, I noticed, keeping the headdress firmly on his head with his arm.

"I hope you found what you were searching for, Your Majesty."

I nodded. I opened my mouth to ask to be escorted outside.

"Do you have any seeds of the plants of the garden?"

I blinked. My words surprised myself first. The little man seemed surprised as well, but nodded back at me. "I... think so, Your Majesty. I... would need to ask the gardeners for them."

"I would appreciate if you would send them to me, on the Garden Palace. With your Chief Gardener, as well. And some apricots' trees." A plan was slowly forming in my mind. He nodded again, dumbstruck. I could feel his curiosity, but it was not on him to question the King of Vietmar.

I stood up and followed him to the stable, by now thoroughly lost in the endless maze. I wondered, not for the first time, how the Huans managed to avoid losing themselves on their own Hall. I shrugged it off. It was none of my business.

Toiden had been brushed and watered during my absence. I looked at him with satisfaction and caressed his neck. He arched it and danced on his slender feet. I quested toward him. He was happy, reposed and well satisfied. He wouldn't mind a walk. I mounted him and made my way back to the Palace.

By now it was deep night. I met none on my path, save the guard patrols, always of a Kham guard and a Vietnamar guard, who saluted me, each in his own way. The stone-pawed streets echoed with the sounds of Toiden's hooves. Stars gleamed upwards. There was a smile of a moon in the sky, competing for light with the lamplights that illuminated the streets from my orders. I passed row after row of houses, some still in building, some already completed. My eyes passed over them as I went. I came to Clerres to save somebody who was a friend, and more than a friend. For that reason, I became King of Vietmar. I tried to be a dutiful King, but I was never more than a stranger in their midst. That night, as I lead my horse toward the light of the Palace, a slow realization dawned in me, like the sun dawns on the sea. Those were my people. My people, if not by blood then by wow. The houses were strange, not at all like the ones of my Six Duchies' childhood, but the men and women and children who slept inside were my own, as surely as the one of Buck, or Farrow or Bearn.

I smiled.

I breathed in the night and squared my shoulder. The contours dimmed and merged. I shook my head to clear it, but things merged into shadows and forms and colours at the edge of my vision. I bit my lip as I went inside the gate and toward the royal stable. A sleepy hand ran to take Toiden away from me. With a last pat, I let the horse go.

I searched through the Skill-Link for Vien. I found him asleep. Better, for what I had in mind. Snowcloud was in a part of the Palace where the Artists lived. The Artists Quarter. With a jab of pain, I realized she was with the Fool. I bit my lips, but refrained from contacting neither, even as my grip on reality faltered, and things seemed to lose individuality, to become only a form with shape and colours. Yet my bonded companions presence gave me strength, even as I refused to reach for it. I would need the strength. I had something else to do.

I went to my quarters. I was not sleepy. I did not look left nor right. I paused only to check I was truly alone and to take with me a lamp. Then I went straight for the secret entrance. This time, I did not go down for the hidden sea cave. The lamp held straight in front of me, I headed up.

The Garden Palace rest against a lone cliff, rising from the land. The coast of Silvarin, to the contrary of the one of Fisil, is flat, made of gentle beaches that don't shield the land itself from the sea's harshness. The cliff is the very reason we decided to build Silvarin where it is: it provides at least some shelter from the wind and waves. There were other two places with rocky heights suitable for the task. But this one also had two potential secret alcove: the hidden sea cave, and a small, secluded vale near the summit.

From what I could surmise, it was once a sheer cliff. Some movement of the earth made half of the very top to fall down, leaving a small dale, of half the size of the city beneath. When I explored the place with the Khams, the small, flat clearing was accessible and visible from the ground, but one of my first order had been to wall the entrance in such a way that it would resemble the natural rock around it, and to build the secret passage.

I came out to see the stars. The sea air smelled good after the damp passage. I breathed in it. Some dark clouds played with the moon and the stars, but it would be some days before they could build up another storm. I regarded the place critically. There was a small spring, by some freak of nature warm. But the water was good to drink and use. Some small trees managed to get hold on the rocky ground. Grasses grew, and wild flowers as well. In the beginning, I had planned to make a sort of hidden den from the small vale. A place to hide if even the Palace would fall, with provisions and all the necessary to withstand a siege. But I had never got around to prepare for it, never spoke of it to nobody, not even Vien or Chyne. I rubbed my chin. I would do something different with it.

The Fool had always liked to have a place all for himself to do as he pleased. He would enjoy the secret garden with the warm pool.

And perhaps it would help him forgive me.

I spent the rest of the night planning what was needed. There were still some wooden planks and tools, leftover from the construction of the fake cliff wall that hid the small vale. I checked them. There was something I would need, in any case. I went back in my quarters to plot for it, sketching on paper small cottages and places to put flowers. I had never enjoyed or indeed participated in such a task, but the idea that my Keppet would perhaps take pleasure in it helped me. The labor cleared my mind, sweeping away my confusion as a strong wind sweep away webs.

The sun woke me the morning after. I stirred. I had fallen asleep on my desk, my face on the still wet ink.

A presence, familiar in the Skill and Wit, made me turn. Vien, pristine as always, stood at the door. His black eyes were emotionless. As I looked at him in the morning light, I noticed abruptly he hadn't been with me the day before. Where had he been, I wondered? And what kind of conclusion would Citymaster Atid take from his absence? For surely the old Huan had observed his absence.

Vien bowed deeply, his hands in his sleeves. His immaculate state made me aware of my own untidiness. I scratched my cheek, feeling the ruggedness of the beard. Flakes of dried ink dusted from my skin.

"I need a bath, a shave, and a change of clothing." I said, standing up. I hesitated. Something told me Vien knew where the Prophet was. Yet I was loathing to ask. Snowcloud absence was as cold and keen as the Behit's wind, but she had not been back to me still.

Vien nodded.

"Yes. Suen Bright Jade is awaiting in the parlor, my liege. Great Trainer Atid had send words you accepted to see her." I blinked. I had. I glanced out. It was perhaps one hour after dawn. I had not thought she would come so soon. Nonetheless, I nodded back at my Huan.

"She will have to wait."

Vien gestured toward the bathroom. I almost smiled. I would not be surprised if he had already arranged all I had requested, and food besides, though I wasn't hungry. I glanced at the desk, the half-finished plan for my gift to my Dhil'a still on it. I covered it regretfully with clear paper. It would have to wait.

"Fizek is back from Seel, my king. He brings tiding from that clerk, Tre'Kato." I nodded slightly. Then I sighed. The day promised to be tiring.


	14. Eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated. They also make me laugh xD
> 
> Many thanks to Crystal for her comments! <3
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

** Chapter Eleven: Eyes **

 

 

_Vietmar's nobility is classified in seven ranks and three classes._

_The Vua, the Kings of Vietmar are of course at the peak. The Lords of the West and the East are the two Quoc-Cong. Under each of the Quoc-Cong there are two Quan-Cong, each responsible of half of the province. The Quoc-Cong and the Quan-Cong are the High Nobles. Under each Quan-Cong there are two Cong. Two Hău are sworn for each Cong. The Cong and the Hău are the Middle Nobility. To each Hău are sworn two_ _Bă. Lastly, two Tü Houses are for every Bă House. The Bă and Tü are the Lesser Nobles._

_Each of those title is heritable, but the manner of transmission is very varied. In some houses, the title passes from fathers to sons. In others, it is from mother to daughter. The chosen child is not even necessarily the older, as in some house, particularly in the west of Vietmar, it is the current holder of the title who has its picks among the younger generation to choose as he pleases._

_Cities and Docks are administered by Citymasters and Dockmasters. Though by tradition this office is not bequeathed in families and as such Citymasters and Dockmasters are not part of the nobility, the prominence that cities and docks have in Vietmar has made them important characters. In particular the Citymaster of Dushanbe is directly appointed by the Vua, and have a rank between the Quoc-Cong and the Quan-Cong. Even citymaster of lesser cities can have a remarkable degree of freedom. They are appointed by the Quoc-Cong, Quan-Cong or the Cong of the province, depending on the importance of the city in question, but they can't be dismissed at will. Every Citymaster has right to bring the case of his dismissal in front of the Kings, and few nobles care for such a thing to happen._

_Dockmasters are always appointed by the King, as the commerce between Vietmar, and, by large, by Clerres, and the Away Kingdoms is sole province of the Crown. While the Royal House takes only a part of the tax in the various provinces, taxation from sea travel and all that came from the ocean belongs sorely to the Kings._

_Waitan is under the King's direct supervision, but it is ruled by a council made of the two Citymasters of Silvarin and Fisil, by the two Aspyrgends and by two representatives of the Khams, chosen as the Khams see most fit._

_The amount of power that rests in the hands of the Kings or in the hands of the High Nobles has fluctuate during the centuries. Currently, as a result of the Civil War, the Iduyans Invasion and the blooming of the commerce with the Away Kingdom, the balance has swung in favor of the Kings._

_The personalities of King Chihn and Queen Chundra may also have had their bearings  in this recent shift of power._

_Great Trainer Atid: Reflection on Vietmar_

 

I bathed. I allowed Vien to shave me and to choose my clothes. As usual, they were in shades of cream and brown, with embroidered hem. A robe that reached my knees, loose trousers and high boots with fancy upturned points. I sighed, but I dressed myself without complaints.

Vien gave the last touches to my hair. He had been strangely silent. I knew not how to speak to him, nor what to say. I could have asked him about Fizek, I suppose, but I was strangely loathing inquiring. So I watched the play of light and darkness over the carving in the walls and said nothing. My mind felt still as full with carded wool. I shook my head to clear it.

The sun was well up the horizon when I was ready to meet the young woman. I went into my audience study. It is a simple room, even if I had to battle for every inch without ornaments or carving. There is a high chair, comfortable and pleasant to see, with a wide cushion. The seatback is carved in a single block of amber. Amber and gold are inlaid at every nock. The wood itself is maple wood, golden and warm. It is a throne, a private and subtle one, but a throne, nonetheless. It gives the back to an ample window, framed in more gold and amber. The frame reflects the light on the throne itself, making harder to judge expressions and postures of the King. I planned it that way.

A second seat can be brought in front of the first. There are several seats actually, varying in opulence and comfort, though none as luxurious as the King's throne. They are chosen to reflect both the status of the petitioner and the royal thoughts. My thoughts, I suppose.

As I entered I noticed the second seat was a chair, carved and with a cushion, but not inlaid with amber or gold. I silently approved Vien's choice. It was a neutral seating for an important merchant's daughter and heir. Not luxurious, perhaps, but comfortable. Between the two seats there was a low table, but it was empty. So Vien had thought possible that I would wish to share a tea with her, but not so sure to put out the various necessities already.

I went to take my place and tried to relax. I felt Snowcloud's absence with a keenness that almost frightened me. I longed for her to be close, to pass my fingers in her fur and to rest in her warm love for me. I squashed the thought away. She had her own life, and rights to it. And I refused to let my mind wander toward the Prophet, or my bond with him. My head swam for a moment.

Vien opened the door and bowed deeply.

"Suen Bright Jade." He announced, his fine voice clear. I contracted my fingers over the throne's arms. Then I nodded at him.

The young woman slithered inside, her eyes downcast. I studied her. She was dressed with the warm, cream colours of Vietmar. The cut of her clothes too was of the country. Her hair was not elaborately braided in some fashionable style. She looked demurred and quiet as she sat in the chair. I waited for some second, studying her face. She was homely and plain, as I remembered. But the absence of powders and paints suited her.

I broke the silence.

"You asked to see me."

She nodded.

"Yes, my King. I... I wanted to thank you." She breathed in. Her fingers contracted. "About my brother."

I said nothing. Even if I knew, by Wit and Skill, that we were alone, those were not words that should be uttered at all. I glanced again at the young woman. She was much as her brother, after all. Memories of my own youth came back to me, unbidden. I groaned. Are all young fools?

"Compassion is a virtue, Suen Bright Jade. But I stand behind the White Prophet in all things." I said quietly. The young woman nodded vigorously.

"So does House Suen, my King. I... My father doesn't know I am here. But I have told him I wish to create a second charter of our House in Silvarin, if Your Majesty would allow us. House Suen desires to root into the soil of Vietmar, to grow strong in here."

I almost rose my eyebrow, but I checked myself in time. House Suen, now that it had no more an inconvenient male twin, could behave like other Liantharin's Houses: bids its time in Vietmar, waiting for the Civil War to end before coming back in Liantharin. Or so many House claimed to be doing. But time flowed as it is wont to do, and their children were born in Vietmar. Suen Bright Jade was grown between Dushanbe and Fisil. She knew little of Liantharin. The Elders of the Houses may wish for the Civil War to end so that they could be back in their Forefather's place, but I feared they would discover how little their progeny desired to do the same.

"Your requested had been noted, Suen Bright Jade. House Suen shall be notified of the answer." I paused. "And if your House shall find a neutral shaman to craft for it, you will be allowed to join the trade of charms."

My last words caught the young woman unaware. She casted a sharp glance at me, but she had the sense of keep silent. She nodded.

"I know nothing of this shaman, my liege. It was my father and my... brother, who met the man who suggested it. I am sorry I can't help you more." I nodded again. This was much as Chyne and Vien told me.

I waited, to see if she had other words for me. None came. I straightened up in my seat.

"May the future bring you peace and prosperity, Suen Bright Jade." I replied, formally. Recognizing the dismissal, she rose on her feet and bowed deeply.

"And to you always, my King." I turned my eyes away as she walked out of the room. When I heard the door close and her presence fade outside it, I groaned and hid my brow in my hand. There were consequences, implications in the brief meeting. Yet I could think about none of them. I had just wake, but I felt tired and more than tired. Thinking was a chore I would be happy to go without.

Vien entered the room. I did not raise my head. It seemed to big an effort. My Huan walked toward me.

"Other Houses may follow suit of House Suen, my liege. It is very well regarded among the refugees from Liantharin." I vaguely wondered if nodding would be enough. The silence stretched. I could almost fell Vien's growing alarm. He swallowed.

"My liege?" He asked, and his voice was tinged with anxiety.

I sighed.

"I am... tired, Vien. And still recovering." I breathed in. Words were such awkward things, I could not concentrate on what they were trying to convey by them. To think what you wished to speak, to mold mouth and tongue and lips to say it. For a wild moment I desired to reach with my Wit toward either Snowcloud or the Fool, but some peevish stubbornness stopped me. They had not contacted me, so why should I reach to them first?

I stood. After having congratulated myself not to have swayed, I turned to Vien. His cassock was of all the shade of cream, and it faded to a rich brown at its hem. The morning light played with the gold cleverly woven inside the cloth, showing a second embroidery, beneath the first. His dark hair and fair complexion were not unlike the hue that moonlight casted over the landscape. I blinked and shook my head.

"I need to rest. Ask Fizek my forgiveness. I... am very tired." I repeated, stupidly. Vien's eyes grew with alarm. He said nothing. Without touching me, he led me to my bedroom. Grateful, I sank in my feathery bed, without even removing the long boots. My last thought, before darkness engulfed me, was that I was dirtying the coverlet.

Then, blessed silence.

 

Light shone in my eyes. I frowned and turned my head, hiding my face in Snowcloud's fur. I had no desire to wake just yet. My companion presence was warm and comfortable, like the fire in a heart.

_My companion presence._

I was suddenly awaken.

_Welcome back, sloth mine. You are turning into a veritable sleepyhead. Perhaps I should call you dormouse mine._

I ignored Snowcloud's jest and looked around, bewildered. The room was darker than before, and the lack of illumination gave everything a gloomy feeling. The colours were dimmer. In the heart, only embers shone slightly. Outside, the rain fell with the ancient song of the water. Wind howled between the trees. The waves hit the cliff with a rhythmic thud.

The light I had noticed was the one of a lamp, held by Fizek. I rose my eyes to meet his hazel ones. My boy smiled at me, and a faint red spread over his ruddy cheeks.

"Hello, Father. I apologize, I didn't mean to wake you up. Vien told me to leave you to sleep, but I was..." His voice trailed off. I sat on the bed, still groggy. The rich clothes felt like they had been glued to my skin. Somebody, probably Vien, had taken away my boots. I shook my head to clear it. I glanced at Snowcloud. She was sprawled by me, her white body contrasting the rich golden covers. She barked and wagged her bushy tail. I chuckled.

"I am well enough, Son." I told him. My mind felt both clearer and sharper than before. I inhaled deeply. The windows must have been open in some time of the day, for I could smell the sea. I smiled.

Fizek's eyes shoved his relief. He smiled and put the lantern on the floor and sat, cross legged, by it. The puddle of light on the ground created a warm pool of life in the suddenly blank room. I rose from the bed. In the silence I went to the basin always full of clean, rose-scented water and washed my face. Its coolness washed away the last of the daze. I peeled away the cassock and threw it on the bed. Snowcloud jumped down and stretched, yawning.

As we did so, I wondered about the time of the day. I tried to gauge it by the light and the noise, but to no use. The sky outside was stormy and could hide either moon or sun. The Palace was startlingly silent, but it could mean either that the hour was late or that Vien had given order that I should not be disturbed.

Fizek didn't bother me as I moved. He had always been quiet and perceptive, even as a child. When I sat by him on the floor, he smiled at me. I noticed a plate of boiled stuffed bums by him. He must have brought it with him, as those were among his favorites.

"What time is it?" I asked, eying the food.

He chuckled. "The Dinner bell sounded one hour ago." I bit my lip. Had I slept the day away?

_You were tired, brother mine. When one is tired, one rests._ Snowcloud interjected, lazily. She scratched idly behind her low-tipped ear, then went to Fizek. I could feel her pride and love at her cub. I couldn't help but smile.

I reached for a bun. " Vien told me that you had something to tell me." I threw another bun at Snowcloud who deftly caught it mid-air. Fizek smiled and scratched the wolf-dog.

"Yes. I have worked on that clerk who suggested the shaman to House Suen. Tre'Kato is quite unremarkable, though he came from a family who is very loyal to Kuan. He is an orphan, around thirty years of age. A librarian and an historian, I am told. He had some connections to the Iduyans as he had participated to a number of botched attempts to make peace between them and Kuan." He shrugged. I nodded. It was much as I had supposed it would be.

"He has sojourned last year in Vietmar, a part of a delegation between refugees Liantharinan's families and the ones who have stayed behind. Tempers run high among the merchants and nobles. The one who stayed in Liantharin resent the ones who fled."

I frowned. I had not been aware of this delegation. Yet, I could hardly follow everything that happened in Vietmar, and my thoughts had been preoccupied with the last preparations to save my friend. Sendàr had been alive too, and that hampered my desire to visit the mainland of Vietmar considerably. But it did not surprise me that my merchant-savvy son had known. So a clerk with some acquaintances among the Iduyans had met a family who wished to trade in charms. I looked at the glowing ember. Life is full of such chance meetings.

"It was most a matter of luck. Lhansa doesn't exist anymore. Staying behind would mean certainly death." I pointed out. He nodded and spread his hands, stopping his petting of Snowcloud for a moment.

"I know it, as you do. Perhaps the people of Liantharin felt it was better to die on Liantharin than to live in Vietmar."

I snorted and took another bun. "If it is so, they are free to risk their own lives."

He nodded again.

"What have you done to Vien, Father? He was very distressed yester eve."

I glanced at Fizek. So, Vien had been with him the day afore.

"Nothing. I... quarreled with the Prophet." I swallowed. Snowcloud said nothing, but nothing needed to be said. Her blue eyes bore unmistakably what she thought of me. I sighed. I would have to talk with him. Like that had ever been useful among us.

"He asked me to teach him the language of the Seven Duchies. I have started to do just that."

I stopped mid-chew, then swallowed. I nodded. It seemed a good plan as any, though the idea of not having any tongue that Vien didn't know made me slightly uneasy. There are things I have no wish to share with my Huan.

I had not donned another cassock, nor a nightgown. My bare skin felt good in the slightly cool air I finished another bun and stood up. I thought about the Fool's Garden, and my plan for it.

"I was waiting for... somebody from the Great Trainer Hall."

Fizek shook his head and rose as well, dusting himself as he did so.

"I heard of none. Perhaps the rain kept them inside. It had started soon before midday, and it won't stop for days." He commented, with the philosophical acceptance of the ones who have grown in the extreme Vietmar's weather.

I nodded. "I have some work to do, son. It is good, to have you here." He smiled back at me.

"For me as well, Father. Though the travel was simply awful." He grimaced. I couldn't help but chuckle.

He rose and stretched. He doesn't reach my nose, but his young body is compact and muscled. I wouldn't care to pit my strength against his. He smiled at me again.

"Chyne is coming, too. But the White Road is probably flooded or nearly so already. The travel may be long." I nodded. Travel slows during the beginning of the Rain Season. As Fizek, I had learnt to accept it, and to mold my plans accordingly.

He left me soon after, after much mutual reassurance to spend more time together. I reflected there was much I needed to ask him still, about Chundra and Bitter Moon and Little Chien. But first, I had to give my apologies, meaningless things they were.

I sighed and searched my wardrobe for something practical. I found nothing. I put on the least impractical of the clothes there and turned toward Snowcloud. She had curled up in front of the dying fire and was looking at me, her eyes lambent in the dim light.

_You know where his room is._

She didn't ask me who I was talking about. She rose on four feet and walked out the room.

I had expected to find him far away, in one of the most secluded cottages in the Gardens, so it was not so. After only a couple of turns, Snowcloud stopped in front of a door. It was delicately carved and exquisitely inlaid with amber and gold, but looked unused and strangely ragged. Unused it was, for the door was the one of the Second King Quarters. It would have been of Sendàr, had he ever wished to dwell in Silvarin. He had never come. Even so, I hesitated for a moment. There was nobody around. We were still in the Royal Rooms, and it was clear that Vien had given instruction to let me rest. I breathed in and called out. The only light came from a wall-lamp just beyond a bend in the corridor. Darkness danced in the corners. I could hear dimly the rain pouring somewhere outside. A feeling both eerie and fey prickled at the back of my neck. Goosebumps rose on my skin. My voice was strangely soft and hesitant when I spoke.

"Fool? It is me. Fitz."

No answer. The door was ajar and no light came from the small crack. I hesitated. He may not be inside. But perhaps he was sleeping. I was strangely reluctant to attempt to gauge it from our bond. The bond wouldn't probably give me any answer, anyway. Just like the man, I thought surly.

I don't know what possessed me to enter, but my hand slowly pushed the cool door. It opened without a sound.

The room was dark, and as I watched it I knew the Fool was not inside. Over the desk, not unlike the one in my own room, stood his parchments. He had spent the last months on them. I walked. Something like dread or foreboding overshadowed my step. Snowcloud trailed behind me, but I nearly didn't feel her. My eyes were riveted to the parchments. Odd, I had never cared for them in the months of my absence and then recovery. But now the flighty papers seemed to have a life and a will of their own. Almost as they could call to me.

There was no light in the room, and I had brought none with me. When I came close enough to see them, I couldn't discern what he had copied on them. Then a series of lightening struck the ocean, illuminating the room like the brightest summer day with a blue light alive with energy.

For a moment, I could see.

Runes danced over my eyes, and symbols and figures, springing from the papers, penned by the careful hands of my friend. The lying eight of the Dhil'a rune made my heart leapt in my throat. The rune for star, for companionship, for cycle surrounded it.

I almost stepped back. I would have stepped back if I could. But I couldn't. My feet felt rooted in the floor's planks. My mouth was parched. My heart beat in my throat. I waited in silence and darkness for the next lightening.

The thunder shook the Palace from its foundation, but I stood.

The next flash of light added to my confusion. The symbols were right, but strew haphazardly over the parchments. They were single words, sometimes parts of words, without meaning or order. The symbol of Dhil'a appeared much more often than the others, but it wasn't a part of a text. It could have been preceded or followed by something with a logic, or by something completely senseless.

It was almost like he had copied words at random, with no sense of what they meant, nor of what they could represent. With no sense even that they were words, like a child copying letters on the sand.

My head felt like the thunder was striking between my temples. It wasn't pain. It was a soaring confusion and dread, mixed with something I couldn't name. A hint of a truth, of something half forgotten.

I stared at the symbols. When the thunder struck again I raised my head sharply.

It seemed he had copied the words without knowing their meanings because he did not know their meanings. And he had spent the months from the moment I had given back his prescience doing this.

In the darkness and cold, I trembled and felt my breath being cut at my throat.

It was Time. The Wheels were turning, once more.

I fled the room and what it held. Snowcloud had to run fast to keep my pace.


	15. Bluebell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated. They also make me laugh xD
> 
> I have noticed that the Interludes are a lot shorter now O.o Well, it doesn't really matter, doesn't it? :) I have however resolved the writer's block, huzzah!
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*
> 
> Thanks to both Crystal and Noam who have commented on the last chapter! <3

 

 

 

** Chapter Twelve: Bluebell **

 

 

_Vanyel Thera and Halan-tis_

_Rosin Krisec aaa-nd Flint!_

_It is not me and you are it!_

_Clerres Counting-Out Rhyme_

 

 

I ran.

I ran into my room and into the secret passage. I stopped just enough to open the door. Snowcloud caught up with me. She followed me up, in the hidden garden into the solitary mountain. I bumped several time against the live rock, once scratching my forehead. I didn't care.

I ran.

As I did so, the sound of the rain grew stronger and stronger. When I finally exited in the night, it poured on and around me. I breathed in and swallowed clean, fresh water. I hung my head, and let the water drench me. Snowcloud stood behind, hid in the shadow. She watched me with lambent eyes.

There was no light, save the intermittent one of the lightening. I kneeled between the mud of the garden and the rock of the passage. I searched blindly for the lamp and the firestone I had left in the mouth of the channel. It took three attempts by my clumsy hands to make a light, shielded by the stone above. I closed the lid on the lamp. Snowcloud rose her muzzle at me.

_Brother mine._

I sighed. I stroke her between her head, and she whined at me.

_It is nothing, sister. I..._

I stopped. It was not nothing, but how could I explain to my wolf-dog what I myself understood so little of?

I sighed again, took the lamp and surveyed the garden.

The merciless rain was too thick for my pitiful light to shine through. Almost it looked like a wall. A wall of silver and black. I turned my head and the cone of light to the left. There, somewhere, was the small cabin I had begun to build. I have heard the construction crews I employed to erect my cities said that the best season to build is the rain season, for anything made under the merciless onslaught of the rain and wind shall surely survive the milder dry season. I know not if it is true, or if it is just idle chat, or even words to fool the unwary. But I wished the little cabin to stand strong. I could not work on the garden itself, as I had neither the tools nor the light to see. So I put myself to work at the lodge.

I went on for most of the night, Snowcloud looking at me from the safe, dry secret passage. I was sure she thought me having as much sense as a blind puppy, but her thoughts were guarded from me. I hit my own thumb more than once, and almost saw off my little finger, but I went on. I had already made most of the skeleton, wedging the hewn wood into the rock itself. I continued my work, losing myself in the manual labour, trying to drown the sound of the Wheels in the rain.

I had no way to know what time of the night it was, or indeed if it was night still. I had finished the floor, when Snowcloud called me for the first time.

_Changer, somebody is calling you in your den._

I raised my head. I was thoroughly drenched, so much I had long stopped to care. I rose on my feet, a wordless question in my mind.

_No, not your mate. The Young One._

I sighed.

_He is not my mate. I am coming._

I took the lamp with me. My eyes fell on the wick. The light was sputtering and the lamp felt light in my tired arms. I frowned. Could I have truly worked so long?

_So you say. You still haven't the sense of a puppy, to come out of the rain._

I didn't bother to answer. I went down the passage, water dripping from my clothes and hair. I watched the once beautiful garments. They were stained by mud and ripped where my work had ruined them. I bit my lips. I needed a set of simpler robe to wear.

I waited in front of the door, strangely reluctant to come inside my own room. There are things I didn't care for Vien to know. My secret passages are one of them.

I looked down at Snowcloud's white form, and she lolled her tongue at me. She cocked her head on the side, one low-tipped ear twitching in the air.

_The Young One is not behind the door, brother mine._

I nodded and opened the door with care. Snowcloud slithered past me. I closed it again and started to disrobe, behind the delicately carved screen.

I could feel Vien's moving in my study. I did not call for him. I heard him open the door as I dried my hair with one of the soft towels left out for me. He stopped in the threshold. I looked down at the discarded and ruined clothes at my feet. I could not hide that I had been outside, nor that I was not here when Vien had entered my quarter.

"Vien? My sleeping robes." I called. For a second I heard nothing, and his stillness bespoke of more than his voice ever could. Then he went to take what I requested. I sighed, drying myself and wondering if this, too, was something taught in the Great Trainer Hall. Somehow, I could imagine it.

Snowcloud yawned and stretched, trotting to the heart and falling there with a sight. She started to groom herself neatly, as wolves do.

Suddenly, I felt tired and empty. In all the day, I had eaten only the bums Fizek had brought with him. My arms and legs and back ached from the manual labour, and my hands were raw and sore. I studied them for splints under the light. I turned my head at the Wit and Skill feeling of Vien coming nearer. In his arms there was a simple long robe of natural silk, with a yellow sash. I glanced at him and frowned. He too was dressed in what was his night robe, similar to the one he was handing to me, and his long hair was unbound, flowing black and sleek over his back. He was almost barefoot, with only his night stockings.

 His face was closed to me, and so was his mind to my Skill.

He glanced at the ruined and wet clothes at my feet. He said nothing, silently giving me the night robe. I donned it without a word. As I tied the sash around my waist, he disappeared behind the screen. The silence was as loud as the sound of the rain in the garden. I bit my lip. I wondered if I had insulted him. As I stepped out of the screen myself, I saw him coming back from my study with a tray. A turret of miso soup and tea.

Simple, filling food. I rose my head. His eyes were downcast as he prepared the desk, cleaning it of my papers with precise movements. I sat to eat. As I did so, he spoke, his low voice loud in the silence of the night.

"I came to warn you, my Liege. Bitter Moon skilled to me little time ago. She will come to Silvarin, escorting the little lady Quy, as her father can't come." He paused. I waited, sipping the soup. This was not the reason he had banged into my quarter in the middle of the night, without taking time to dress and prepare. "Queen Chundra and Prince Chien will come, as well." He added, with forced levity.

I choked on the spoonful of soup.

I started coughing. It took me several second to catch my breath again.

I looked wildly at Vien, who had been beating helpfully me between my shoulders blade, perhaps with more force than was warranted.

"She what?" I asked incredulous.

My Huan winced.

"So Bitter Moon Skilled to me. They will come in six days." He paused. "Five, now. They have departed yesterday from Dushanbe. They will stop to Seel, where the little lady Quy will await them, and then move on to Silvarin. "

I glanced out of the window. The wind and the rain still swept over the ocean. Waves crashed on the cliff. Silvarin has less protection from the elements than either Seel or Dusbanbed, as it doesn't enjoy the protection of the Vietmar Gulf. The passage was far from safe. In my mind, I could see their vessel wrecking and capsizing, the crew and the passengers both lost. I hid my face in my hand and groaned.

_The cub is in danger, brother mine?_

I eyed Snowcloud. She had stopped her grooming and was watching with her keen blue eyes me and Vien. I sighed.

_Perhaps, sister._

She growled low in her throat, a sound that made even me shudder. Then she scrambled on her feet and went to the window. She put her forepaws on the windowsill, almost as she thought she could see the ship with her cub coming. She whined again, a soft, keening sound, her bushy white tail between her legs. I echoed her feeling.

I finished the soup, Chundra's words echoing in my mind. For royalties, it is better to ask forgiveness than permission.

I debated whatever I should tell Vien to Skill to Bitter Moon to reverse the course, but thought better. If Chundra had so chosen, there was no coming back from it.

I rose from my chair and turned to Vien. He stood by my seat, silent and watchful.

"Thank you, Vien." I was so tired I could scarcely keep my eyes open. I sighed. "I am going to sleep. Don't wake me up tomorrow, I fear I shall need the rest."

I slow smile curled his lips. He nodded and bowed to me.

I glanced at Snowcloud, still looking out of the window.

_You can't see them from here, sister._

She whimpered and turned to me. Then she relinquished her place, reluctance evident in her every move. I lied down on the bed, and she jumped by me. I put my arm around her body, warm and strong.

I feel asleep as a stone fall in water.

 

_A great, circular, roofless palace crowned the hill and the marble of the courtyard and the fountains was split and stained with red and green, and the very cobblestones in the courtyard had been thrust up and apart by grasses and young trees. From the palace I could see the rows and rows of roofless houses that made up the city, looking like empty round honeycombs filled with blackness. In the square where the four roads met was a shapeless block of stone, that might once have been a sculpture. Pits and dimples marred the street corners where wells had once stood and wild figs sprouted along the sides of shattered domes._

_The Prophet stood still, looking around in bewilderment. But I had no time for it not time for confusion. The houses were built as a layering of circles, one atop the other in ever decreasing size. Now that I was concentrating on my surroundings, I noticed the pattern to the curving road that had led us from the gate to the palace; it was a spiral. The palace, the tallest building of them all, was in the center of the sprawling spiral._

 

I woke up.

At first, my head swam so much that the carving on the ceiling seemed to merge and fuse among themselves. I groaned and rubbed my face with the palm of my hands. Why had I dreamt of the ruin of a White city, and to be here with the Fool, no less? It almost looked like a omen, but my time of vision had come and gone already.

I sat on the bed. I knew before turning my head that Snowcloud was no more in the room. The soft drumming of the endless rain filled the very air around me. It had slackened somewhat, and I could tell it was daytime.

I rose. My eyes were bleary and my mouth thick. I went to my bathroom, and found a bath ready. The water was lukewarm. It must be a little later than I usually rose, but not too much. I bathed and perused the clothes Vien had left for me. Their appearance reminded me once more to search for less noticeable alternatives.

As I groomed myself I tried to put all the pieces together. Chundra, little lady Quy, Chien and Bitter Moon were coming to Silvarin. If the little girl was acceptable, she would probably be trained as the next queen. After the first moon of the Rain Season I would have to sit to pass judgment about the Schooling Law. And I still had to apologize to the Prophet.

The sounds of construction had begun in earnest after the temporary halt of the first monsoon, but the rain hampered them. My mind went back to my dream as I tied the jiggling sash around my waist. What a strange fancy to have. Why would I have been in the ruin of a White City, and with the Fool, no less? And all those cities had likely been long destroyed. The Wheels of Time can be more ruthless than any millstone.

I quested for Snowcloud. She was close by, still in the Garden Palace. That did not surprise me, for she hates the Rain Season. But she was in the Artists Quarters, and that was a cause of consternation at first.

Then I understood with whom she was, and I groaned, closing my eyes.

Silvarin is a young city, but since its beginning it has been hailed, by me and others, as a city of knowledge. What I had not supposed would happen was that it would be considered a city of arts as well. As a result, artists had come in flocks, like birds at their nesting site. Poets and minstrels, musicians and carvers, sculptors and painters. At first, I was quite at lost about what to do with them. I hastily appointed to them an area of the Castle, originally to be given to lesser visiting nobles, allotted them some servants and decreed that accomplished artists would be given food and board, if they would help in exchange with the construction of Silvarin and Fisil. I had not foreseen the results, but I was pleased of them. In less than three years the Artist Quarters had become a lively place, with people coming and going though the Quarters rarely host more than thirty or so artists at any given moment.

Kar - Jast Folres, the castle steward, and Vien take care that none of them is too evidently a spy, but there would be little for them to spy on. The Artists of the Artists Quarters come but rarely, and only if invited, in the Palace proper, and anyone showing an undue curiosity is likely to be noted. At first, I was quite ill at ease, and sometime I still am. But the beauty they create is worth the added risks.

So the Fool had decided to pose as an artist among artists. He would fit well there. I toyed with the idea of going to the Artist Quarters themselves, but discarded it. I am by far too conspicuous to have any hope to pass unnoticed. My presence would be noted, and amply commented. Not for the first time, I regretted the strain that King Chihn imposed to me.

I left my quarters and went to search for Kar - Jast Folres.

Among the many actions a King shouldn't make, is searching for somebody. A King either tells or orders people to come to him, never the other way around. But I was annoyed enough with etiquette and shouldn't. I extended polite greetings to all I met, ignoring their hasty bowing and scuttling aside at my passage as Vien had painstakingly instructed me to do. The Garden Palace extend more in width that in height, at least for the time being, and it is at least twice as big as Buckkeep used to be in the time of my childhood. The place map came effortlessly in my mind. I did not lose myself nor I faltered once as I made my way to Kar - Jast Folres.

I found him in his own office, in the more utilitarian part of the palace. Even that place would have dazzled my child self. Its carvings were subtler, less elegant perhaps that the ones in my own quarters, but the polished wood and the amber inlaid shone under the lamp's light bathing the room in a mellow, pleasant light. The wall with no carvings has a tapestry in all the shade of grey and amber, with fantastic creatures and images and pleasing symmetrical patterns.

Kar - Jast Folres hastily rose and bowed at me deeply, his palms united and the joined hand at the level of his forehead, as is the use of the more eastern countries of Clerres. He came from Jast Folres, in Atremandia many years ago, exiled as a part of a blood-debt between Jast Folres and Jast Khusht. He is short and fairer than many people of Clerres, with blonde hair and twinkling green eyes. I find him relaxing. He has no ambition to go beyond where he is in life, and his satisfaction reflects in all he does and says. His love for gossip, too, has no match in the whole of Clerres. I have had the dubious pleasure to dine with him and Jek alone. If I had thought myself knowledgeable of what happened in my Kingdom, that evening had quickly disabused me of the notion. Ever since that day I have sometime talked to him. He takes a great pleasure in retelling me his tales. He smiled and waited for me to speak.

I cleared my throat.

"I wanted to ask tidings about the Garden Palace, and Vietmar, Kar - Jast Folres."

He bobbed his head in nodding and trotted to take a chair he keeps for my use. I sat as the little man fussed around to prepare tea. He always keeps a kettle ready with hot water, in case somebody would come to him. I was not hungry, but knew better than to hasten him. This little ritual, too, please him, and it pays for me to keep my people as pleased as possible.

"Well, we have all missed you, Your Majesty. First that nasty business with the Seventh Year Meditation, and King Sendàr's death, and now your illness. We were all worried. It was so good to see you at the dinner!" He smiled again, serving the tea. I drank. "So, you asked about the Garden Palace? Well, not much to tell…"

I listened to him as he recounted me of marriages, babies, children and woes of all of the Palace. I tried not to show my impatience. The information could well be useful. But I fear I noticeably become more interested when he started to speak about the Artists Quarters.

"And there is a new artist in the Artists Quarters. A carver of wood, I am told. She used to be an artisan in Liantharin, and escaped the Sack of Lhansa. She took up in Dothi Ca'Chihn. Her beads are a thing of beauty, Your Majesty, for all they are of wood. I have bought a necklace for my wife. Her name is Auburn."

Auburn. The name suited my friend well.

"She is getting acquainted in the Artists Quarters. She had not been out of it in the last two or three days. You know how those Artists are, so strange. You should really see some of her work, Your Majesty."

I nodded and I was sipping the last of my tea, wondering how to frame the questions I wanted to ask when the next words of the little man iced me to the core.

"But between the death of King Sendàr and the death of little Lord Bui… The omens are not good for you neither, Your Majesty. You should take care."

My breath stopped in my throat.

"I did not know that Nyugien Choi Bui was dead." My mind raced and strained. Bui had been the third son of the twin lords of the Eastern Tma province. I had met lord Nyugien Hai Dahn in Dushanbe few moons before. He and his brother, lord Nyugien Hai Cahn, ruled well over their lands. They had two sons already grown, and soon to get married. Bui had been a surprise, and took his mother's life in coming into his own. He was the same age of Chien. Had been.

He had been the same age of Chien. Both Chundra and I had thought of him as a possible King Brother for Chien, after Sendàr's death, since House Trinh had no child of acceptable age.

A crashing sound woke me from my reverie. Both Kar -Jast Folres and I looked down, startled. I had gripped the frail porcelain with too much strength. It laid in fragments in my hand. I watched the blood dripping, as hypnotized. I felt no pain.

Kar -Jast Folres jumped up from his seat and hastened to take a clean bandage. I took out the slivers, my heart heavy. Little Lord Bui had been presented to me. He was just a child, dark haired and dark eyed, with a small round face and a gaping smile. A child that somebody thought too inconvenient.

I could have very well had been him, if for different reasons.

I breathed in.

"This tiding was… unexpected." I said, with as much neutrality as I could muster, but I doubt I fooled my steward. "When did the little Lord die?" I added, as he bandaged my hand.

"Oh, just before the rain, Your Majesty. He took ill and died. Such a tragedy, but life is so frail for children that young…"

I nodded. It could have been a natural death. But House Thrin had been trying to give birth to a son for two years, and the expected baby had turned up being a daughter instead. I suspected they had hopes for little Thrin Thi Chau to be chosen as the next queen. And that too had been in mine and Chundra's mind, and even in Sendàr's. Yet now a child with less nobility, but Skilled, had been found. I doubted not that news of this finding had already reached all the corners of Vietmar. Could House Thrin have engineered little Lord Bui's death, to even the score with their rival?

I sighed. Of course they could have. And if I had made the connection, so had House Nyugien. Whatever the little Lord had been assassinated or died by none decision, this could very well spiral beyond my control.

We chatted some more, exchanging pleasantries before I departed to come back to my quarters.

I looked out of the rounded window. The rain kept falling.

It seemed oddly fitting.

 


	16. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated. They also make me laugh xD
> 
> Stuff is happening. Which is good.  
> I don't know you, but I have grown attached to Flint and Vanyel, somehow...
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

**_ INTERLUDE _ **

_The small city awaits._

_The circular buildings are vacant and silent. The garish colours themselves seem mute. The street, spirals and circles, are empty. Nothing moves or lives here, now. The bright blue sky and the warmth of the hair bespoke of summer, but there is no flower, no tree to herald summertide._

_Even the stark young mountains, here merely a far-away shadow on the horizon, harbored more promise for life than is held in those cold, precise stone, painted with lively shades._

_But the mountains are young, and the city is old._

_The wind alone howls in the paved roads, making the charms over the doors and windows jingle. More magic is strewn along the city: any street is a strand, any building a bead. Every colour is part of the magic, every shade and hue strengthens it._

_The whole city is a charm against the ravage of time, made by a people that know  Time well._

_In the centre of the city, at the heart of the charm, a fire burns gaily._

_The room with the fire is at the second floor of the central building. The room is wide, a perfect circle, on top of another, even bigger one. Four windows, covered by glasses, open on the room, two of them left ajar. Inside, there is only a nest for birds as big as humans, made of branded wood and fabrics, filled with soft wool and linen. The fire is lit beyond a stone heart set in the center of the room. There is no metal, nowhere. The wind enters by the windows and stop to ruffle the fire flames._

_The giant leopard sprawled on the ground moves his whiskers. The round ears twitches. He rises on his chest, tucking his paws under his chest, a cat does. He is big, even for a giant species, and strong besides. But his muzzle is whitened by age, and the caution in his movements bespoke of pain. The animal's breath is labored and shallow._

_Whiteclaw looks at the fire. His companion is not with him. This is good. The jaguar's tail twitches as he waits what comes for all creatures._

_Time passes, as time does. The wind comes to play with the flame once more._

_When the wind leaves the room, the big cat's breath follows._

_Outside, somewhere in the city, Flint screams._

____

_The snow is falling over the city._

_The stark lack of life is less evident under the forgiving white. The colours disappear, the angles and too orderly streets lose their harsh discontinuity. All looks dead in Winter, and the city weathers it well._

_The snow is thick and immaculate. No tree impedes its passage. No animal mars its perfection with its prints._

_The fire burns inside the one-room home. It is not empty now. Racks with stone-tipped spears and clubs and flint knives are carefully arranged on the walls. Half-finished projects, carved wood and braided baskets. Hide-bags hang from the ceiling above, filled with nuts and roots and vegetables._

_A cauldron of leather bubbles over the fire. A rich smell of meat and greens fills the air._

_A man looks at the fire. His eyes, a shade lighter than the flint he is knapping, have no focus._

_He is dressed in light leather, his crossed legs covered by furs, but his chest bare. He is strong the way that people who live on their strength are, with no softness on his lean, hard body. His shoulder is  puckered in a hideous scar that creeps over the neck and eats half of his face. His long air is sleek and blonde, the colour of straw. His features are strong, yet fine. His nose is straight, his eyes big and unclouded by brow ridges. His expression is pinched, and his bearing taunt, as the one of an injured man, recovering from a wound. Yet, no injury can be seen on his body._

_Flint passes his hand over his brow, stopping the rhythmic motion to knap the flint's nodule in a knife. Several flakes lie orderly in front of him, glistening in the firelight._

_A gust of wind and snow enters the room. Flint's back contracts with the cold, but the man doesn't move._

_Vanyel slips inside and sneezes. Flint stands up in a fluid motion, to go to his Dhil'a. The White looks crossed, as if the cold has given him a personal insult in cooling him, or the wind had been rude by blowing against him._

_Flint smiles. The expression is halted and hesitant, as if unused._

_Vanyel returns the smile, and his eyes, a darker shade of blue-grey than they used to be, lit up._

_"Ah, Dhil'a, it is good to see you smiling again." He says, and his soft voice is gentle. Flint hesitates, and smiles._

_"The food is ready, if you are hungry."_

_The White nods and walks toward the hear, sneezing again and shuddering, extending his slim hands to the fire._

_Flint watches, noticing the feather in the hair, the plumes that peck from the heavy, furred coat, the way Vanyel's eyes don't move, the talons hidden by many layers of leather. That is not like him. But the man's eyes note the fine features, the spacious forehead, the slim bones and the elegance of the movements, the slender form. Those things are like him, and unlike his people._

_Flint shifts his weight._

_"When will your people come?"_

_Vanyel stops struggling with the heavy fur coat, loaded with snow, and turns to his Dhil'a._

_"Come spring. It is the Year of the Nestling. We shall take care of the eggs for one year and of the hatchlings for other nine. Then we shall leave the city, once more for twenty. So the cycle shall begin anew."_

_Flint nods, thoughtful. He smiles and chuckles. A flash of mingled surprise and pleasure lits Vanyel's face. He drapes the wet clothes over the dedicated rack by the fire._

_"Like the birds, you come to nest with the Spring." He teases. Vanyel huffs but smiles back._

_Outside, the wind howls some more, and the snow falls thicker. Flint looks out, to the Winter. A storm is coming. The young man looks outside and frowns. His eyes sweep the cozy room, and glides over the hatch that leads to the Nest proper, and under, where the snow-catches lie, with their wealth of food stored for the winter._

_Vanyel takes a bowl of soup from the cauldron on the fire. Flint bites his lips as he watches his Dhil'a._

_"Will your people accept me, Vanyel?" Flint's voice is soft and quiet. Vanyel turns, sitting cross-legged by the fire._

_"You are my Dhil'a. They will be… " The Seer searches for a word, but finds none. "It is a great change, for them." He adds, in the end._

_Flint frowns and sits by Vanyel, without eating. His lips are thin. Shadows of ancient rejections cloud his eyes._

_"Sometimes you must part from things you love. Like twins were parted in my birthtribe." Flint is speaking, softly, gazing at the fire. "I have often wondered… If my parents would have made… Me. Had they not been parted. Had they known they were twins."_

_Vanyel stops eating and put down the bowl. He reaches for Flint's hand. Flint, without taking his eyes from the fire, squeezes gently._

_"We will not be parted."_

_The city sleeps still, under the raging storm._

_It waits._

_____

_The sun is rising over the far-away hills._

_The usual green is covered by the timid blue and yellow of the first flowers, scattered by Spring over the fields, like the stars are scattered in the Sky. The morning is cool, the ground wet by the spring's rains. A smell of earth fills the air._

_The road sprawls like a stone snake between the hill and toward the city. People walk, following the serpent's coils. People of white mien and colourful garb, with petite bodies and graceful movements. They walk fast, some talking with each other in the melodious tongue that Vanyel taught Flint, so long ago. There aren't many of them, perhaps numbered in tens, but Spring has just begun. More will come. But less than ten years ago left the city._

_The Ieldřyr walking on the street know of this. Knew before it happened the faces of the one who won't be there in this new meeting of life._

_Flint watches them enter the city, from above. Perched atop one of the towers-house, by the city's gates, where the magic begins and the wild gives way to the charm that the place is. He spies on them, those lithe, colourless beings that are and are not like his Dhil'a. His gray-blue eyes follow them, one by one by one. The blonde man maps similarities and difference (differences) between those creatures and Vanyel. Between those creatures and himself. Most are as tall or slightly taller than Vanyel, but not as tall as him. All are devoid of colour, hairs  and eyes like the belly of a beached fish._

_Flint shudders. He bites his lips. Vanyel is in the Nest, the Dhil'a House, to greet his people after the long parting. But Flint doesn't go to him._

_The sun rises on the cloudless sky. The Ieldřyr find their way in their ancestral home._

_Far away, the Ice Mountain moves, rumbling softly._


	17. Bluejay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated. They also make me laugh xD
> 
> Almost the last chapter without the Fool. Take heart :D
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

 

 

** Chapter Thirteen: Bluejay **

 

 

_When Prince Cunning hit is seventeenth year he was appointed as Duke of the Mountain Duchy. It was an historical moment, and it was celebrated even more than his brother Prosper elevation to King-in-Waiting, three years afore. Emissaries from all the Mountain People came to Buckkeep and among them the young Duke himself._

_Cunning had not been in Buckkeep proper in the last nine years, and if the nobles had thought to find in him the sickly child he had been they were disappointed, for the feeble boy had grown  into a strong if slender youth. Buck's clothes had been sent to the young man, gifts from his father, King Dutiful, and his mother, Queen Eliannia, but again the boy surprised them all, for he only dressed as befit to a Chyurda, or with the garb of some other mountain people._

_But his strength and his garments were not the only surprise young Duke Cunning had in store for the court of Buckkeep. For when his father appointed him as Duke Cunning of the Mountain Duchy, the lad rose swiftly from his kneeling position at his father's feet. All expected him to pronounce a wow on how he would serve the Farseer Kingdom, but the boy proclaimed instead to all who care to know that Duke Cunnning and his Duchess Ulai would be loyal, sworn servants of the Farseers._

_At his word, in the midst of the sudden silence, a woman of mountain's lineament and bearing came to him, and repeated her husband's words._

_I can't vouch for it, as I was not looking, but a minstrel on whom I have faith claims that the Dowager Queen Kettricken smiled at her younger grandchild._

_King Dutiful did as best as he could in the circumstance. Duchess Ulai came from an important family in the Mountain Duchy, and was a distant relative of Dowager Queen Kettricken, so the match was not unseemly. Yet it was plain to all that neither the King nor the Queen had known of this. Duke Cunning managed to convey much about himself in the very moment he achieved his title._

_Duke Cunning and Duchesse Ulai did not stay for long in Buckkeep. His actions had made clear his thoughts on his parents, and how much he cared for their approval, but he did seek out his brother and sister and, even more, his grandmother. He supported Dowager Queen Kettricken desire to put the ancient scroll library of Buckkeep in order, and King-in-Waiting Prosper and he organized the task, giving the duty, as fitting, to the minstrels. Not only Buckkeep minstrels, but from all the Seven Duchies. The Dowager Queen appointed this duty to herself, and all the minstrels of the Seven Duchies and beyond know that Dowager Queen Kettricken is no woman to conceal the truth._

_After a month Duke Cunning came back to his Duchy, leaving one of his own in Buckkeep. No words were said, but it was clear that the young woman was to be his ambassador._

_And so it was the Six Duchies became the Seven Duchies._

_Minstrel Mishap of Buckkeep: "Tales of the Seven Duchies"_

 

 

I spent the next three days as the first days of the monsoon are often spent: in tedious indoor work. Much had been left undone during the moons of my absence, and all had to been completed before the dry season would begin again. Tax reports, import reports, land disputes, channel reports and reports about the birth of noble children had to be validated by the King. I frowned at the channels reports most of all. Vietmar is mostly irrigate through a fine net of man-made channels that serve both to ensure water to the thirsty rice seedling during the dry season and to drain the rain during the wet one.

I can still remember the first time I saw it, the very moon I docked in Vietmar. It was a sunny day of the dry season, hot and full of light. I was still taking my bearing of the place. Much I had learnt during the years as the Future's Pride's Physik, including Vietmar's tongue, but I had secretly considered the words of the Clerres' sailors as the tall tales all men boast about their own people. So I was not as prepared as I should have been, and in the first year of my residence Clerres dazzled me well and often. My first beholding of the irrigation canals was one such a moment. I stood with my mouth ajar and gawked. It was, and still is, a truly impressive sigh; the sunlit canals, gold of light and blue of clear water, crisscrossing the green rice field, with wheels to bring forth the water from the channel beds, and the small wooden carved bridges that connect the roads from bank to bank. It was a painting in gold, blue, green and soft brown, smelling of clear water and rich, good earth and growing plants. All looked so pristine and well-kept that I had then thought that this must surely be a new venture. The work of the current king, or the previous generation at most.

As I discovered, such was not the truth. The net of canals had been made more than one thousand years afore, and kept in such a perfect state by hard work. I do not know what surprised me more: than such a feat had been achieved so long ago, or that it had not been improved upon in the while, for the channels are now as they had been the day of their completion, a chiliad ago. With time, I learnt that this was a fixed feature of Vietmar, and then of the whole of Clerres: much as it looks advanced and prosperous, all that seemed to me to be a novelty or an improvement is in truth a thing of the far away past. In the last thousands of years, nothing had been made in the White Land for the benefit of neither man nor beast.

The canals are so essential to the very life of Vietmar that the law states a lord may lose his title if he is found lacking in the care of the part of it under its rule. The chronicles tell of many such events, but the most important happened some six hundred years ago, when the Quoc-Cong House Tay Son neglected the channel of the Tma Province to such a degree that when the monsoon came, the cities were flooded and the harvest lost. The Kings of that time, Than Thuc Phan and Than Ao Lac, divested House Tay Son of its ranks and title, giving it to another family, House Nyugien. House Nyugien is the Tma's Quoc-Cong House to this day. House Thrin had been the steward of the Vei's province since the beginning of Vietmar, and the older House still count House Nyugien as latecomers.

A part of my duty as King of Vietmar was to make sure the canals were well kept. Every year the King visits either the Tma province or the Vei province, and pass judgment on the channels there. The other province sends reports on the canals, to be perused and approved by the King. It had been Sendàr's duty. As I poured over the paperwork, I came to the uneasy realization it had fallen on my shoulders. I was not unable to perform it. When Sendàr elevated me to the status of King-Brother he took care to teach me all I would need to complete my duties, including how to gauge if the net of canals is well kept. But I had never done it. Sendàr and my relationship turned sour fast enough, and he kept all the public duties of the King for himself. In the last years I had avoided the mainland of Vietmar, and Sendàr presence, as much as I could. The idea of having to leave Waitan for long period disquieted me. I was surprise at my own disquiet.

I spent the days between documents and my work in the hidden garden. I did not see the Fool, or Auburn, once. Snowcloud kept with me for most of the time, but she would sometime disappear. I did not quest toward her. I took to sleep for longer and longer period of time, and the White City in ruin plagued my dreams. I missed my friend's body next to mine with a sharp keenness and, in the morning, self did not came to me as soon as I opened my eyes. Sometimes, I had to look at the ceiling, marveling at the intricate carving, for a while before recalling my name, and myself.

I saw little of Fizek. He was busy working with the Dockmaster, helping him with the tidings and tariffs. Many thought the lad was being grown up to become Dockmaster himself, Fizek among them. I let him free. Fizek had a good head on his shoulder. Better, I thought ruefully, of the one I had at his age.

The gardener from the Great Trainer Hall came, and I was surprised to learn it was a woman, elderly but still strong, with thinning, long, straight snow-white hair bound in a simple tail. She bowed to me deeply and presented me with no less twelve rose seedlings and four small apricots, aside from three cherries and two apples. I was not able to restrain my pleasure when she told me she had brought white, yellow, red, black, pink and brown roses. The flowers were in bud, but she had clearly marked the pot. At my request, she suggested to wait for the monsoon to abate before planting them, but the rain of the second part of the season would do the saplings well.

I whisked the plants away in the secret passage as soon as Vien left me alone, and resolved to wait. Bitter Moon Skilled to Vien daily, so I learnt that, aside from the Queen suffering from bouts of seasickness, the voyage had been so far tolerable. Chien was well and the darling of the ship already. He had taken to Jek, and she to him. They would arrive as expected, if the sea stayed manageable.

I admit I felt less sympathy with Chundra than I should have, but I could hardly avoid thinking it was largely her own fault.

Vien had just finished the last recount, and I was wondering if I would have time for the garden that night or if the paperwork would drown me as surely as the ocean outside, when my Huan spoke again, catching me by surprise.

"The Palace is preparing for the Queen, my liege. The cook is quite out of her wits, I have been told." Startled I looked at him. He was immaculate as usual, his black hair groomed to perfection and his dark eyes solemn. I blinked. I have not always been swift at appraising social situations, yet dim as I was I realized it.

It was the first time that the Queen and the Prince both would be in Waitan. The whole royal family united. And little lady Quy would be there, as well. A genuine puppet show. I set my face in my hands and groaned. Vien made a sound that, in another person, may have been called a chortle. I glared at him, but the lit of amusement in hid black eyes stood. I sighed.

"I have all faith that Kar - Jast Folres is fully able to prepare the feast." He would probably be delighted. I massaged my chin and frowned. "I'll give the servants some gifts after this. Remind me of it." Vien nodded sagely. This was another habit of mine, the thanking of the household's servants with gifts after a feast well made. So I had done after the White Prophet's coming in Fisil. It is a small act, but I remember all too well my brief time as Tom Badgerlock, servant of Lord Golden, and know how little most highborn thinks about how much work goes into the servants' making them comfortable. I had resolved not to be so. The nobility of Vietmar at first scorned me, but I have heard that House Thrin, and several Quan-Cong Houses, have took up the habit, as well.

Vien left me with a tray loaded with food and disappeared swiftly. I sighed and looked at the viands. A courses of chicken with Liantharinan cabbage, stewed pig’s offal, a thick hotchpotch, a soup, tender duck, shredded pheasant, and pickled vegetables served in bronze enamel bowls. I knew why he had fled: he was time of his language lesson with Fizek. I was not hungry, but forced myself to eat some pheasant and pickled vegetables. Snowcloud rose her head from under the table. Her tail thumped the ground. I smiled and passed her the hotchpotch. She started to lap at it with gusto. She has a liking for the dish.

When Vien retired, I was suddenly left with nothing to do. I watched out of the window as I ate my soup. It was mid afternoon. I had been so diligent in my work that most of the pile of paper on my desk had been disposed of. The cabin in the hidden garden was likewise well on the way, though it would be a tenday or two before I could truly call it complete. I had just build the wall up to my waist, but there I had to stop. I was not strong enough to carry the heavy planed boards. I would have to think about it, but for now, I couldn't find any way.

My mind wandered. Unerring, it went to my last confrontation with my friend. I winced. I had not been able to find a way to meet him.

_The Scentless One hides from you, brother mine._

Snowcloud's words confirmed my suspicious. I groaned. I should have find a way, to tell him I was sorry.

But was I?

I thought of it, searching for an answer in the cup of amber tea in my hands, the soft sound of rain and the not-so-soft noises of constructions enveloping me. I sighed and glanced at the fire. It was not cold, but it was somewhat cooler than it is usually in Waitan, and the servant had left a small fire in the heart. It gave me something to look at whilst I thought.

I pondered the question. I was sorry to have hurt my friend. But some part of me thought that, like Chundra had earned the seasickness, so my friend had earned to know how he had hurt me. I winced still at the long ago pain. He had cut our bond. I still could scarcely believe it. At least, we were bonded again, now, though not in the same way as before.

Could he do it again?

I gasped. I almost let the dainty porcelain cup fell from my hands. The World turned cold as an ice hand grasped my heart.

Snowcloud rose her head from the bowl she was industriously cleaning with her tongue and pointed one low-tipped ear at me.

_Brother mine?_

I almost didn't hear her. I was trembling with cold and fear. He couldn't, could he? I knew, with a dire certainty, that my very sanity edged on my bonds. Snowcloud and the Fool quite literally kept me together. Perhaps a time would come when I would have healed enough not to need such a crutch anymore, but it would not be soon. Slowly, with deliberate care, I lowered the cup on the wooden table and stared at it. The light from the tiny fire in the hearth glinted off the burnished gold decoration on the [cannikin](http://thesaurus.com/browse/cannikin). I could see the very grain of the desk's wood. I watched the sinuous line interrupted by the hard knots for a while, feeling as cold as all the ice of Aslejval had took residence inside me.

Then I stood, went by the fire and proceed to protect my bond with the Fool from the very person it tied me to.

It was no easy task. I painstakingly weaved the Wit-bond with gossamer of Skill. He had no Skill himself, none at all now that what had once been on his fingers was lost to him. He wouldn't been able to tear apart the bond. My mind began to unfold. I have, over the years, given much thought to how one could describe Skilling. No metaphor really does it justice. Like a folded piece of silk, the mind opens, and opens, and opens again, becoming larger and yet somehow thinner. That is one image. Another is that the Skill is like a great unseen river that flows at all times. When one consciously pays attention to it, one can be seized in its current and drawn out to flow with it. In its wild waters, minds can touch and merge.

Yet no words or similes do it justice, any more than words can explain the smell of fresh bread or the color yellow. The Skill is the Skill.

I lost myself in the careful work. Skill and Wit can be used as one. Odd, how I had to learn to apply my Skill apart from my Wit in the beginning of my training, only to revert to a shared use now. Snowcloud watched me, sitting with her bushy white tail on her paws. She didn't offer me her help, but neither she attempted to stop me in my toil. It was hard. Harder still for I had no true wish to protect myself thusly. Not from him. Not from my Keppet.

Yet protect myself I must, and so I did.

I do not know how long the labor lasted. When I tore myself from the luring call of the Skill, I was staring unseeingly at the cold heart, where only some embers stirred. My eyes were sticky and dry from being open and unblinking. At first, I could see nothing. Nor could I speak, for my mouth and throat were likewise dried to leather. Yet none of those sensation mattered as much as the horrid, burning emptiness in my heart. That I had to armor myself so against my Dhil'a filled me with a feeling that to this day I cannot name. A blank despair, a hollow, dull sense of defeat. I turned my unblinking eyes toward my companion, and Snowcloud whined my feelings. I reached for her with my Wit and my outstretched arms. Her soft white fur felt shockingly good amidst my fingers.

I hid my face in her coat, and wept.

So I feel asleep.

The following morning was the last day before the Queen's appointed arrival. I retreated in my quarters, for I knew I would be underfoot more than help. The hollow emptiness didn't leave me. Ironically, my walling the bond had managed to strengthen it. I could feel much clearer than before my Dhil'a position, though it was still an eerie feeling, as strange and fey as a whisper of air in a close room. I knew not how I could explain it to the Fool. I turned away from it.

As I washed my face so that Vien could shave me, to stop thinking about bonds and friendships, I recalled the dream of that night.

 

_The Prophet stood still, looking around in bewilderment. But I had no time for it not time for confusion. The houses were built as a layering of circles, one atop the other in ever decreasing size. Now that I was concentrating on my surroundings, I noticed the pattern to the curving road that had led us from the gate to the palace; it was a spiral. The palace, the tallest building of them all, was in the center of the sprawling spiral._

 

I shook my head. Was this, perhaps, a remnant of my Time of Vision? I could recall none of it, and this was strange enough. I frowned at my own face in the mirror. There were still holes in my memory, the biggest one regarding the time between my leaving of Fisil and my awakening at my friend's juggling. I knew I had been mauled by some wild cat. I had new scar to prove it. But of that, too, I could recall nothing.

Snowcloud yawned in the rug and writhed over it, pawing the air erratically. The rain was receding. Soon, perhaps that very day, the worst of the monsoon would be behind us. The rain would keep falling for all the rainy season, but more unevenly. I would heartily welcome the sun.

I sat in the shaving chair. Vien started his work. I closed my eyes and attempted to relax, with very little success.

"The Khams are having a lot of fun with the demons, apparently, my liege." I opened an eye and looked at him from down up. He flashed at me a rare smile.

"There had been talk about Kham's enlisting to the army. Lym had approached me with the idea, as long as they could fight against demons."

I considered that. The Khams are skilled, if erratic, fighters. I was still pondering the possibility when Vien spoke again.

"They have cornered the Shaman in the Dead Stone. It doesn't seem to desire to leave the place."

A jolt shook me, so strong that Vien's razor cut the side of my face, and it was either Fate or blind luck that he was not shaving my throat, for I could very well have slashed my own neck. Vien's eyes grew huge and he hastened to gather bandages and herbs for me, but I scarcely felt the pain, nor the blood dripping from my jaw to the silk towel draped around me.

For the meaning of my dreams had flashed clear to me. Once more, I knew what the Dead Stone was.

I watched the carved panel in front of me without seeing it as Vien fussed around the scratch. Cold sweat trickled down my spine and I whimpered softly. Snowcloud whined keenly and shook her white head, confused by my reaction. Her blue eyes blinked and she turned on her belly to watch me.

I bit my lip. A shaman in the Dead Stone. Memories mine and not mine of the powerful White charms flooded me. I almost stood up here and there to ride to the place and chase the Shaman out of it, before too much was lost.

But I did none of those things, for I was King, little as I cared for the name or the post. I breathed out, letting Vien's garbled apology flow over me. I dismissed them with a gesture.

"Don't worry, Vien. It was my fault. I was… thinking." Vien didn't ask what I thought about. It wasn't seemly for him to do so. I racked my brain. I couldn't leave the palace, but Keala must be told. I could try to speak with Lym, but I feared it would not be enough.

_I shall speak with Keala, brother mine._

I glanced at Snowcloud. She could come and go as she pleased in and out the Palace, and knew the hunting ground of the Free People well. But the thought of parting from her when I was still so ill at ease with the Fool filled me with dread. Had I healed enough? I shrugged the question off. It would have to do. I suspected she had other reasons for wishing to see her mate, if Keala was truly so, but I did not voice them, aloud or in the Wit.

_Do that, sister. Go to Keala, and tell him to be wary of the Shaman. It is a game no more. It must be chased out of the Dead Stones._

She rose and trotted out of the door. Greetings are not the way of neither wolves or dogs.

I closed my eyes as Vien finished to shave me. I almost quested toward the Fool, but thought better of it. I should have to face whatever was in store for me counting on my strength alone.

Somehow, it didn't seem quite enough.


	18. Forgets-Me-Not

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The WONDERFUL Emanuelle betaed this! Emanuelle is still the best beta ever <3 Thank you for your comments, they are really appreciated. They also make me laugh xD
> 
> Things are happening. A lot of things alas. I am really liking this story, I hope to have more time to write during Easter's Break :D 
> 
> If anybody is interested: nothing is going to change in this story coming the new book. I am not even sure I'll buy or read it, because frankly I like my headcanon a lot u.u And I am wary toward the author. So this will stay the same, I'll just change the tag taking away the "post-canon" one, putting something like "Alternative post-Fool's Fate" :)
> 
> And to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

 

 

**Chapter Fourteen: Forgets-Me-Not **

 

 

_My first Time of Vision happened less than a three months after my coming back from the Mountain Duchy._

_The Vision itself I have described elsewhere. Strange and painful as it may have been, it was stranger and more painful still what awaited for me at my waking._

_I remember it clearly. I opened my eyes to the floor of a cave where Snowcloud, my sister, had dragged me. The snow packed the earth, but its coldness was not enough to numb the searing agony. I did not scream. I had no breath to do so. I could only lie still, writhing and mewling like a newborn kitten on the cold stone as the change racked me. I had not known such a pain, before or since. My very bones were melting and rearranging. It felt like every fragment of myself was being torn apart by hot pokers. Tears misted my visiothen. Pathetic, whimpering sound escaped my lips. I longed for death to free me. And yet I knew with horrendous certainty that death would not come, to spare me the torture. No. I would survive it._

_I did survive it._

_That I did so with my sanity intact, that my mind did not shatter under the Visions or the agony, I owe to the snow and to she who shares a name with it. By my luck, if luck can be invoked, it had been an exceptionally cold year, the coldest I had ever passed in Withywood. A storm had raged for much of the time I was unconscious and in agony. The cold cooled my flesh and numbed the pain. The second, my companion Snowcloud, steeled me through the rapids of the Time of Vision, centering me._

_When the pain at least relaxed its grips on my body, I plumbed into a deep slumber of exhaustion._

_At my waking, all had changed._

_I remember opening my eyes to look at the cave floor, and Snowcloud's relief flooding me. I turned my eyes to look at her. My eyes felt sticky and aching. I tried to reach for her with my hand, to scratch her head and reassure both her and myself. Such a simple gesture, to reach for something to grasp, to touch. A babe could do it, but I couldn't. My clumsy hand hit the rock at her side and I whimpered in more pain. I tried to sit up, then to stand. My movements were wrong and halting. I swayed. My balance was awry. I tried to take a step. My hips and ankles turned at a strange angle. I fell again, face first on the floor._

_Again I tried to stand, holding on Snowcloud's fur first and the cave wall second. Slowly, very slowly, I took a step, then another, clutching the wall all the time. I was still too numbed by pain and cold to think clearly. Out of the cavern I discovered myself thirsty and ate snow to quench it. Then I made my trail back to Withywood, groping for branches and trunks to steady me._

_My luck held. I found one of the search party that Riddle had sent on. They took me and brought me back to the manor in a sled. For a time, I was reduced to little more than a babe. I had to learn how to walk and move my body again. Simple actions like grasping a cup or turning my head had become a task to be learnt. More complicate ones, like writing or fighting, eluded me for a longer time. For years I stumbled and fell easily, to the point that the sailors of the Future's Pride took to call me Clumsy and forbade me the rigging. I did not jump a ship and came to Clerres, much as Jek may think so. It was full Winter when I had my Vision, and Spring was teetering into Summer when I boarded a boat in Buckkeep, sailing for the Pirate Kingdom._

_But hard and strange as the change of my body had been, it was easier to ease into them than to accept the shift in my Wit-sense._

_Much of other creatures felt the same as before to me. The birds in the sky, the fish in the water and the animals on the land, all were as they have always been, present in my perception. But not people. When I was staggering in the trail Snowcloud had broken in the fresh snow, I quested to find other humans. I found none. Then I stumbled into the road, and almost in the arms of the search party. A groups of servants from Withywoods, as I would learn. But I had not felt them. Better, I had felt them, but thought them beast, not people. I remember looking wildly at the serving boy who had brought me breakfast every morning for the last six years, and not recognizing him. I think they believed me half maddened by the cold and the hunger. I let them believe it. It was easier and safer than trying to utter a truth that made no sense for me._

_Everybody felt wrong. Disjointed. Not as people were Forged, thanks Eda. But like they bore less tie with me than they used to have. You are bound to a brother and a cousin both, but with a brother the tie binds more tightly. For all my life, people, humans, had been tied to me to a greater degree than other beasts. Still it was so, but less than it used to be._

_Words cannot tell how all of this was disconcerting and frightening. Image your wife, your child looking at you through another face, talking with another voice. This is how everybody was to me. For many days, I shut myself in my room. Even Molly, for all that our marriage existed by then in name only, came to see me. I asked her to go away._

_I had not yet had my second Time of Visions. I knew nothing of Dhil'a, of the ancient ways, of how normal what had happened was. All I knew was that I had seen things that were yet to come. As this was not cause of fright alone, it had left me unable to do such a simple thing as to drink a cup of tea without spilling half of it. And it had parted me from my own kind._

_I felt such a loneliness as I had not known since I had been torn from Burrich's care to be put in my own room in Buckkeep. But I had Snowcloud at least, and her presence and jests eased me into my new life._

_I learnt. I learnt how to walk again, and grasp things and run and fight. I learnt how different my new body was, nimbler yet strong. I learnt, hardest of all, to accept my separation from what had been my kind. It was a bitter draught to swallow. I won't pretend I never wept with loneliness, drying my tears on Snowcloud's white fur. I won't pretend it doesn't choke me still, sometimes, that ache for a time when I had a steadier claim to a place among mankind._

_But in my parting with humanity, I rediscover it anew._

_I was able to see mankind with different eyes. My discovery of Clerres was much a revelation of humanity, both in its greatness and its weakness. I learnt you need not to be a part of something to love it. I loved Dutiful, Nettle, Hap, Kettricken, Chyne as much as I always had. Later, Jek, Fizek, and then Chien and many other I came to know, I learnt to love as well, and count as friends or children. They eased my loneliness. When I met the Khams, their acceptance of my difference taught me how to accept myself._

_It was a hard road. I do not fool myself into thinking I have walked it to its end._

 

The day after Snowcloud's departure I tried to save as much of my energy as I could. I dreaded the arrival of Chundra with our son and the little lady. It would be a puppet show, with etiquette and protocol as the puppeteers. I knew it would strain me, and I fear my healing was not as advanced as I would wish it to be.

So I went to the Secret Garden, inside the cliff.

The worst of the monsoon has passed. The morning was fair and sunny, and the earth under my feet smelled clean and good. It would rain again, hard as it seemed to believe, but only in the late afternoon. The air was so clear I could make the coast of the mainland at the horizon. I surveyed the garden critically. The half-build cabin was sturdy enough, and would keep well, once finished. I still couldn't think of any way I could, alone, build the wall on the right height. It was a work for two men, and two strong one at that. I left it there. The garden proper was home of some bushes and palm trees, rooted close to the cliff's edge. Their trunks hid the small valley from the ocean.

I looked around, and decided to plant the roses and saplings.

Manual labor has always eased me. So it was that morning as well. I planted the white roses by the secret passage, and made a path with the other colours, yellow and brown, toward the still building cabin. I planted around it the pink and red roses. The trees I planted around the hot pool. I used the fertilizer as the Huan's gardener told me, and how I recalled I had seen the gardeners do, both in Withywoods and here in Vietmar. It was not as a good work as a competent gardener would have done, or even as good as one of the apprentices here in the Garden Palace could do. I had to straighten the saplings more than once, and I knew not if the hot water would do them good. But it would have to do.

As the sun was at its peak, I surveyed my handiwork while I cleaned my hands on my trousers. I was satisfied. I glanced at the half build cabin and shrugged. I would have to find a way.

I went back into the passage, well pleased with myself. The best thing I could do in the day was to be well out of the way. As I walked down the damp passage, I found with surprise I was hungry. In my quarters Vien had left a tray of food. I ate it ravenously after discharging the sodden clothes. I regarded my suit ruefully. Another garb ruined. I would have to find more sturdy clothes soon.

After eating and cleaning I was left with little to do. I quested toward Snowcloud. She was well on the way for the Free People's hunting ground. I had little fear for her. She was capable to take care of herself. Like a cat, I napped in the drowsy afternoon. I woke when the rain started falling, not the curtain of water of the monsoon, but the gentle, nourishing rain of the late season. I felt pleasantly rested and quite lazy.

I decided to practice my calligraphy. I took out my inks and papers. I leisurely chose the brush. I looked at the paper, pondering what to write.

The scrolls on the other King's Quarter sprang into my mind, unwanted and unbridled. I closed my eyes and laid down the brush. All my good humor left me. I felt sick. I hadn't yet managed to apologize to my friend. I felt a twinge of annoyance. I would have done it already, had he not made it nearly impossible. I knew my friend well. He had hid behind this part of him, this Auburn, to escape his pain and hurt. I bit my lip. The pain and hurt I had caused. My shoulder shagged. Briefly, I pondered how it is we always hurt most the one we love most. I sighed. I was no good with words. I had not my friend agile tongue.

I opened my eyes. The paper beckoned me. I stared at the blank page. I was no good at speaking word. But perhaps I could write them. I put down the brush, and took a pen.

That late afternoon I wrote a letter to my friend. I asked both forgiveness for my harsh words, and for him to acknowledge the pain he had given me. It was longer than one page. When I finished it the dinner gong has sounded. I could fell Vien approaching my quarters, likely with another tray.

I let the ink dry. I did not read the letter I had just written, but folded it and put on a blank sigil. I had just terminated it when I heard Vien enter the room. I turned to him. My Huan looked back at me, his black eyes serious and calm. As I suspected, he had a tray loaded with food. I sighed.

"I'll eat it all. But you must find a way to give this to Auburn in the Artists Quarters, without giving notice it comes from me." I handed him the letter. He put down the tray and took it without a word, tucking it away in the cream, embroidered sash at his waist. Then he disappeared again. I watched him going, and wondered if he was still vexed at my behavior. He would have some reason to be. I was under no compulsion to speak to him about the secret garden, and he had no claim to know it. But my absences and dirty clothes could have hardly escaped his notice. I had come to lean much on him, for my need of guidance in Clerres was high. Yet in the last moons I had hidden more and more from him. I should have expected resentment.

I sat at my desk and looked at the food. Chive sprouts stir – fried with shredded dried venison, stewed vegetables, and a courses of sweet and sour pork. The plates were silver, decorated with a birthday peach surrounded by five bats to symbolize prosperity and longevity. I picked the chopstick and started eating.

I had almost finished the venison and chive when the door opened again, and Vien glided back in. Without a word, he draped without a garments on the chair. Gray-brown trousers and a tunic, simply cut in cotton and hemp. Vien cocked an eyebrow at me.

"It is time you stop ruining your clothes, my liege." He said, levelly, folding his arms in his sleeves. I winced, eyeing guiltily at the garb on the floor. I nodded.

"Thank you, Vien." I replied, quietly.

My Huan smiled a little at me. His expression grew serious again.

"Bitter Moon Skilled to me. Tomorrow they will come. Chyne dares not to take the road yet, but she too will come as soon as possible." He made a pause and continued, levelly. "Little lady Quy's father won't be here. Lord Tü Ly Durc Khiem has given his daughter to the Crown of Vietmar, as a gift from House Ly." I must have startled because Vien looked at me questioningly. I looked down. Children could be gifted to the crown by a noble house, if said child gave signs of some useful talent. But that Lord Khiem had been so eager to give away his daughter disquieted me.

Vien went on, as he had not noticed the interruption.

"He is a soldier. House Ly still prize its military bearing. He is stationed on the border." He paused. "From what I was able to garner from Bitter Moon, he has been truly… impressed by your fighting, my liege."

I looked at Vien, chewing the last piece of venison, and considered it. A soldier. A soldier who has fought on the border, perhaps when I was not yet King. I was all too familiar with the level of devotion some of those warriors had for me. Clerres' countries keep armies, but until recently only Kizah and Atremandia had fought regularly. The army was a dreg for the desperate and the hopeless, and for those who clung to past glories. The soldiers had very little discipline and no actual experience beyond the occasional skirmish with border bandits. I claim no great expertise as a warrior, but even my meager practice in war made me adept by comparison. Much had changed, and in the recent years the army had seen a resurgence in importance. It was no chance that the little prince had been called Chien, soldier. Most of it was none of my doing, and yet many had seen in me the catalyst of the change. I quirked a smile. Catalyst, indeed.

If Lord Khiem was indeed one of them, he may count as a great honor that his daughter had been chosen. I sighed. For a fleeting moment, I felt for the little girl, motherless and without fathers to care for her. I would try to do right to her, I resolved.

"Thank you for this tiding, Vien."My Huan smiled tightly, bowed and left. For his language lesson again I estimated.

I had slept in the afternoon, but I found I was still tired. I retired to bed early, trying not to think about the day to come and about letters.

 

The day was as much a chore as I had expected. Vien woke before me, and helped me to shave and dress. He had chosen a black and amber outfit. I regarded my Huan with surprise, but he said nothing, and neither did I. I donned the garments and allowed him to straighten it out. At the whim of a moment, I put my axe at my belt. I do not know why I did so, since I had no reason to suspect treachery, but I felt Snowcloud's absence keenly. She was in the Free People hunting's ground by my estimate. Perhaps the battle axe gave me a feeling of surety. Nonetheless, I brought it with me.

I knew when the King's hoy had sailed beyond the cliff by the sounds coming from the city. I smiled at the lacquered, carved panel in front of me. The cheering of my people was a balm on my soul. Dressed and ready, I paced my room. Now Citymaster Atid would welcome Queen Chundra and Prince Chien to Silvarin and escorted them in the Garden Palace. I looked around and wondered if Chundra would like the quarters I had ordered to be made for her.

The gong sounded once, then twice. I steadied myself, took a deep breath and, Vien behind my shoulder, went for the puppet show.

I do not care to recount the event. I greeted Queen Chundra and our son formally in their palace. Chien was whisked away almost immediately by his nanny, but I was relieved to see him clothed in a garb befitted of his age. He had grown in the time I had not seen him. He was close to three years of age, a lusty, lively child. Chundra replied to me just as formally. I showed her the pristine path in the Garden and she showed herself suitably impressed, though what she really thought I cannot say. We ate a light repast in the gardens, and retreated inside when the first rain started.

Queen Chundra was presented to all the personalities of Silvarin. Then we feasted, a formal affair, and later there was a troupe of dancers performing. They were very good and presented a classical play: "The Courtship of Lianthan". Some of them, I noticed, where from the Artists Quarters. The Artists gifted the Queen with masterpieces both lovely and stunning. By the pieces of arts that were given to Chundra you would have thought the Artists had whole moons to prepare, not mere days. One in particular caught my eyes. It was a necklace, of wooden beads, all carved in different shapes and made by wood of different colours. Even Chundra, well schooled in diplomacy as she was, could not contain her delight and rose it in the air to admire it better. I would have distinguished that hand anywhere. I subtly quested out. Then my eyes found him. He was among the Artists, a dark brown head among many, but I would have recognized him in any clothes and wearing any mask. He was dressed in the normal garb of a Vietmar's woman, with a long gown in forest green and a shorter tunic in a rich shade that seemed to have trapped all the hues of Autumn. His long hair was unbound on his shoulders, and wooden earrings dangled from his ears. He was talking and laughing with somebody at his side, a small child with the dark hair so common in Vietmar and large, green eyes. The child was smiling at my friend's jest and in her arms there was a fine, wooden doll.

I felt a twinge of envy, that he could enjoy himself so, as I was not. His presence steadied me, though, and my thought grew clearer. I blinked. I had not realized they had been clouded. I bit my lip, but I had to soldier on the feast.

It seemed to last an eternity of small talk and politic, but in the end it was late enough that I could excuse myself for the night. It was still early, but I had been but recently ill and I used it to its fullest. I longed for sleep, but I knew better. Instead, I went to my study, Vien by my side. I was not surprised that the Little lady had not been presented to me. She had already caused enough uproar in Vietmar, better to wait for a less conspicuous moment.

I fell, more than sat, on my bed and closed my eyes. My mind ached, my stomach felt cramped by the too rich food I had to force down, my eyes were dazzled by the light, endlessly reflected in mirrors and amber, my ears still ringed with the music, pleasant as it had been. It had been too much and too soon. I groaned and squeezed my eyes, and longed for rest.

"My liege?" I sighed and rose a hand, tiredly.

"I am well, Vien. Let me rest a moment."

I closed my eyes and reclined on the bed, intending to rest my eyes. When I opened them again, it was morning.

I made a sound of surprise and sat up straight. I blinked. Morning? How it could be? Why hadn't Vien woke me? I shook my head to clear it from the fog of sleep, but to no avail. I was still tired.

"Good morning, Chihn. I hoped to catch you first." I turned to the door, knowing who would be here even before my eyes rested on her. Chundra was clad in a simple sleeping robe, of raw silk. Her dark brown hair and skin looked good against the garments' white. She was barefoot and anklets tinkled at her feet. The light from the rising sun gave softer hues to her mellow, brown colouring. I forced myself to smile at her.

"Good morning, Chundra." I was about to apologize to have deserted her, but thought better of it. I waited. She glided in the room. I rose from my bed, awkwardly. Suddenly, I realized I was still dressed as the night before, and unkempt. Well. There was no change of that.

Chundra looked out of the window. I waited.

"Did you see Little lady Quy?" She asked, twirling a strand of auburn hair around her finger. I shook my head.

"No. Was she there yesterday? She wasn't presented to me." I replied. Chundra nodded, looking out.

"She is mute." She must have perceived my shock, for she quickly added. "She hadn't always been. It was the sentencing of her father that stole her tongue. She spoke well before, I am told. It happens sometimes to children, she will heal." I eyed her dubiously but held my tongue. I glanced away from her and paced toward my desk, on the other side of the room. I sat there. I longed to bathe and wash myself, but how could I with her here? The rising sun washed the room with light, the carved panels, inlaid with amber, took the same warm hue of fine honey. I watched the play of a light ray over one of them, enthralled. Then I shook my head and bit my lip to the point of bleeding.

"It may be as you say." I forced myself to speak. My voice sounded odd to my own ears. As it was not mine at all. "Was she here yesterday?"

She nodded again, looking at me.

"She had been brought to visit the Artists Quarters while I was being presented around." A smile curved her lips. "An Artist took a shine to the girl and won her heart with a doll. Her nanny told me she had never seen the Little lady taking a liking of somebody so fast. She dined with that artist yesterday. A wood carver." I blinked. Something moved in my memory, but it was hard to grasp. I nodded anyway.

Chundra's voice died off and she glanced away from me. This was odd. I frowned and tore my eyes from the motes of dust dancing in the air. With an effort, I concentrated again on her.

"Chundra?" I questioned.

She sighed and turned to face me, determined.

"Chihn, there is no two way to say. We need to conceive a brother for Chien to reign with."

The shock of her words drove away the cobweb from my mind. I looked at her with my mouth ajar. She crocked a smile to me.

"You have learnt of Little lord Bui." It was not a question but I nodded, dumbfounded. "Soon the Lords of the East and West will start squabbling. Perhaps the child has died a natural death. Perhaps he had been killed. But either way, both Houses will try to father a son, a possible King Brother for Chien. And even if they both could manage to produce a heir, we can't choose either, for it would be seen as a sign of preference. And possibly as a sign that the Royal House favour either theory about Little lord Bui's death."

I listened fascinated to her words, the sounds and cadence of them. Once, during my youthful travel between the Six Duchies and Bingtown, I had seen a waterfall. It was a fearsome thing, the roaring of water so high that it drown away all the sound. On a whim, I threw in a small branch and watched it being carried in the current toward the great leap. Now I felt as that branch, being drawn toward an inescapable conclusion I didn't want to reach.

I swallowed. The idea of bedding made me physically ill, the shadow of Sendàr looming over me. I closed my eyes. I couldn't think of him. Not then.

"You know I promised Sendàr…" I managed to say. She made an elegant, dismissive gesture with her brown hand.

"I know. But then Sendàr thought he could give me many children. He is dead now, and dead people tend to be sterile." She made a puffed sound and sighed. I looked at her. She was a form in brown and cinnamon hues, with lighter tones where the light struck her. I watched the play of the sun over her rough-silk dress. Belatedly, I realized she waited for me to answer. I tried to find words. They were hard. Speech seemed to flutter in my mind like a caged wild bird. I had to grope for words, and for the way to put them together.

"I need… time, Chundra. I am still recovering." I rubbed my temple, trying to concentrate. "Please, leave me alone."

Something in my tone must have struck her, because she was silent for a long time, and then left. I heard her opening and closing the door. I stood still in the morning light. Then I rose and went to the windows.

The world was a symphony of shapes and colours. I looked at it, and felt happy. I don't know how long I stood there, watching and smiling. I do know that the shadows changed as I did so, because I remember noticing it. A sound behind me, but it wasn't as interesting as the moving, living shape in the air. They were white, those shapes, save from a dash of orange and yellow. I looked at them, and felt happy they existed.

Someone was behind me. I smiled, for I knew that person. I turned, in time to meet two arms that encircled my shoulders. I went willingly into my friend embrace.

"Fitz, Fitz… I am here, I am here."

I blinked. The sound was not simply a sound. It had a meaning. I hid my face in my friend neck and held him close, while the World took focus once more. I tried not to think as I did so.

He had come back to me. It didn't change anything, not really. There were still words to say, and choices to make. But somehow, I felt better.

I was not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo apparently some people on a RoE forum I am in got a pre-edition copy of the ebook (legally, a gift). Something absolutely horrid and tear-jaking happens in the endn. They could not tell what, but in a book titled Fool's Assassin, we can all guess... Even more so because Robin Hobb seems to have taken lesson fro GRR Martin lately...
> 
> I have cancelled my pre-order from Amazon, if you had something similar I would do the same. Personally I ain't going to spend money for that.


	19. Seeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is UNBETAED because Easter

 

 

 

 

** Chapter Fifteen: Seeds **

 

 

 

_Shadow puppetry likely originated in Liantharin during the time of White Khia, when the husband of the Shining Empress Wu died from an illness. The Shining Empress was devastated, and she summoned her court officers to bring her beloved back to life. The officers made a shape of the late emperor using donkey leather. His joints were animated using 11 separate pieces of the leather, and adorned with painted clothes. Using an oil lamp they made his shadow move, bringing him back to life._

_Shadow theatre became quite popular as early as the White Than's Time when holidays were marked by the presentation of many shadow plays. During the modern era there were 40 to 50 shadow show troupes in the city of Lhansa alone._

_Traditionally, the eight to 12-inch puppet figures, and the stage scenery and props such as furniture, natural scenery, pagodas, halls, and plants are all cut from leather. As shadow puppetry is based on light penetrating through a translucent sheet of cloth, the "shadows" are actually silhouettes seen by the audience in profile or face on._

_The custom has spread to several other countries of Clerres. Most of the play are about history and tales of Catalysts and White Prophets, or of famous Emperors or Kings, and they vary wildly in all of Clerres._

_It is worth mentioning that Behit claims to be the true origin of this form of entertainment, citing the music used to accompany the plays, even in Liantharin, is unmistakably of Behitian origin. Even the Iduyan's nomads use a primitive, as to be expected, form of shadow puppetry that has remarkable similarities with the most ancient form of the arts as practiced in more civilized countries._

_"On Shadow Puppet: An Historical Review"_

_By PuppetMaster Dawa_

When I regained enough sense of myself apart from my surroundings it was past mid day. It was hard, like wading in honey. The first though I recalled was that I had not healed as much as I would have liked. The second was that my friend had come to me.

I closed my eyes. He must have guided me to lay on the bed, and lie next to me. My head was pillowed on his chest, his shoulder supporting me. One of my leg was thrown above his. Close. Dhil'a. I sighed.

The fingers that were touching my hair stopped.

"Are you back?" His voice was as soft as his touch. I nodded.

"Mostly." I replied, wryly. I took a breath. There were words to be said. "I am sorry." I added quietly. I could feel his snort before I heard it, and the beating of his heart. I hid my face in his soft tunic. Silk, I though. A rich hue of brown, just a shade lighter than his skin, and with a hint of gold. Cut like a woman's dress. I tried to recall what had happened and winced. Chundra. I put that aside, to be dealt with later. Vien had come, talked briefly with the Fool about something I had not the wit to discern. Me, probably. Then my Huan went away. How long ago, I wondered?

"You had… some points." His voice startled me. I almost looked up. But I feared what I could see in his face. I bit my lip. "I… I shouldn't have broken our link. I thought I was…" He stopped. I waited. I dreaded this conversation even as I knew we had to have it. He sighed again and my head heaved with his chest.

"I wanted you to be happy. I wanted you to have… what you desired." His tone was quiet. A flicker of anger burnt me, like an ember last attempt of a fire. I drenched it down.

 It was my turn to snort.

"No." I said, slowly. I turned to face him.I hauled myself up, one hand on either side of him. He looked up at me. His eyes were huge. My shadow darkened his colours to almost black. He was indeed dressed in a woman garb. Fine clothes, the garments of a prosperous artist. Wooden earring dangled from his ears, and wooden beads were sown in patterns all over the overdress, a long frock, that hug his chest and fell to his knees. The underdress was a shade lighter, amber instead of chestnut. It suited him. But then, he had always had a way with clothes. Auburn was not a beautiful woman, I considered. She had a very spare figure, flat-chested and narrow-hipped. But she was striking.

My friend rose his eyes to meet mine. They were like dark pool of coffee, and unreadable. Even our bond was silent. I sat on my heels. This needed to be said. I bit my lip. Words were not my strong suit. He rose to sit, and crossed his legs. He waited.

"You didn't leave me because you wanted me to be happy." I said, flatly. I sought his gaze, and held it. "You left me because you were afraid."

His pupils dilated, and then shrank. I rose mu hand, to stall his words.

"You were scared. Scared of what I had done. That I had brought you back. That you were in a Time you hadn't seen." A pause. "You threw me away. Because you were frightened." His fingers twitched over his knees. I prepared myself. I would not let him bolt away, not this time.

He averted his eyes. I waited. The room was bathed in sunlight. The amber inlaid and the golden lacquer against dark wood seemed to compliment his colouring. Even the coverlet we were sat upon was gold and soft brown, decorated in intricate patterns.

"You don't sound angry." I blinked. He could still surprise me. I had nothing to say to that, so I said nothing. I was not angry. I had no words for what I felt. A memory not mine glistened in my mind, like silver fishes under the water of a mountain stream.

"You smoked the den." I said, softly, before I could stop myself. He blinked. It was his turn for surprise and mine to avert my eyes. I went on, following the memory. "Nightseye's mother and brothers. The hunter smoked the den. Made his mother and brothers into hide." I closed my eyes. "My mother leaving me at Moonseye. You breaking the bond. It is all one." My mother. I gulped down. My words didn't sound mine. Even hearing them made me ache. Dimly, from very far away, I felt Snowcloud's touch. I closed my eyes. I was trembling. My fingers had clutched the coverlet so much I fear of tearing it. I forced myself to pry them open.

The Fool wasn't speaking. The silence was deafening. Even the construction crews were quiet. The Palace's folks seemed very, very far away. I looked at the light over the coverlet, and tried not to think. It was as difficult now as it had been easy before.

The Fool raised his hands. He touched my shoulders. His touch was hesitant, like a butterfly. He had embroidered butterflies once. With the corner of my eyes, I saw him nod slowly. "I… I see." His tone was unlike anything I had ever heard from him. I had heard him happy, and in pain. I had heard him begging when tortured, and laughing in joy. I had never heard him sounding like this. It was as he was forcing out air he didn't have. It made me ache in ways I could not understand. Another pause. "I am… I understand."

His voice had changed. There was more strength in it. I waited.

"I understand why. Why you can't forgive me." He breathed out.

I leaned into his hands, a little. "Sometimes we hurt the worst the people we love most." I replied, quietly. I was looking at his embroidery on the overdress. No butterflies, I thought, stupidly. Trees and grasses and suns. They were pleasant.

He gulped. "Fitz… about… You said something else. It wasn't in your letter neither." I rose my eyes, taken aback. His own were huge. He was biting his lip. I frowned.

I blushed, mortified. An echo of his own words not so long ago came back to me. He hated me. Thinking about it was painful. I rubbed my arm and lowered my eyes. Telling somebody who hates you about your love. Wretched. It was wretched.

Still it was done. And I was not going to deny it now. Yet couldn't he have left it alone? Did he had to bring it again to light? I steadied myself from his pity.

"I do love you, Keppet. Why would I be here if I didn't?" I asked, softly. My shoulders tensed. His hands flexed over them, still holding me. I waited.

Someone knocked at the door.

I think I groaned aloud. Vien. I knew it before turning my head to answer. The Fool lifted his hands from my shoulders.

"Come in, Vien."

My Huan stepped into the room. I met his eyes and lifted an eyebrow. I did not know if I was angry at him, or grateful. He had a tray in his hands. Vien's eyes darted from the Fool to me. We were both sitting on the bed. The very air was heavy.

Vien was too well trained to show discomfort, but I could feel it as keenly as if he had shouted. I looked at the tray. Sweet-and-sour soup of chicken and vegetables, white rice. Fresh fruits. A simple meal. The kind I prefer, and enough for two. I nodded at him.

"Thank you, Vien. I was growing hungry." I wasn't.

Vien put the tray down on the deck and bowed deeply, without speaking. His eyes darted at the Prophet. I wondered how Vien saw him, but his face stayed the same. I didn't looked at my friend. I stood up and went to the desk.

"Gao is back with the Queen, my liege. And Bitter Moon wishes to speak with you." I nodded. I would have to weave my Skill-Link with her again, as well. And I would have to speak with Gao.

The door clicked behind my Huan. I sighed and portioned the food for two. Bitter Moon brought the thought of Chundra back in my mind. I groaned. Chundra. A King Brother for Chien. Suddenly, the smell of food nauseated me. I turned my face from it.

The sound of the chair moving surprised me. He had always been able to catch me unaware. I did not raised my eyes.

"Chundra came to speak to me." I blinked. I did not know why I was speaking of this to him. Habit, perhaps. And any topic was safer than the one we had been discussing previously. But as I spoke, I felt something stirred between us, something older than us both. Words like golden threads spun in my mind. I tried to ignore them and set my on the wood of the desk. I marveled at its fine grain and intricate workmanship. Carved leaves, birds and bamboo were entwined in the frame, inlaid with amber and yellow garnet, shining in the sunlight. A piece fit for a King, indeed.

"About Little lord Bui's death." I was not surprised he knew of it. I sighed and nodded. I took my head in my hand, my right elbow over a bird's eye, the left one over a shining leaf dripping amber droplets. I closed my eyes.

"Yes. She wishes for a child. From me. A boy to be Chien's brother and king with him."

Silence blossomed between us. I waited. For what, I did not know. I wish to say that his next words surprised me, as well. I wish to say I had not perceived the dance I was heading him to. But as I waited for his next phrase, surrendering the lead to him, I knew it was not so.

"It may be better, for Vietmar, to have somebody with your bloodline. Somebody to see far." His faint voice trailed on. Goosebumps rose on my spine, because it was the Prophet speaking. My Dhil'a. Somebody to see far. A farseer. With a wave of nausea, I knew I would bed with Chundra, and gave her the heir she wished for. I slid my head to rest over my arms. There must be a Farseer heir. For the Six Duchies. And for Vietmar. Was I a stud, I wondered, to father royal's children? I swallowed. I felt sick.

"A Farseer heir." I spoke quietly, to the crock of my arms. I know he heard me, but said nothing. A crow called to his mate from the walls. The sun was shining, but I felt cold, cold inside. I blinked, and the moment for Prophecies and Omens passed.

 I sighed, feeling my shoulders relaxing a little, and the goosebumps abate. "I promised Sendàr. That was a part of our bargaining, one of the prices of Royalty. I would not breed an half-blood prince for Vietmar." I paused. "And I don't know if I can." I added, slowly. But those were excuses, and nothing more. Both of us knew what I would do.

Perhaps I was talking with him because he knew my shame. And he surely couldn't think any lower of me. I opened my eyes, looking at the desk. He was sitting in front of me, and his own plate of food laid untouched. His dark hand, a shade lighter than the wood, rested on it. He wore gloves, thin and lacy things that allowed me to glimpse at his skin.

"Sendàr's price. I don't… Why did you allow it, Fitz? Why didn't you kill him?" His tone surprised me, for the second time in not even a day. If the first time it had been the ache and soft pain in it to dismay me, this time it was something else. Something I recognized and made me flinch, for the last occasion I had heard it, he was lounging it at me.

I blinked and rose my eyes. His expression scared me in way I to this day cannot name. His narrow lips were thinned, his jaw clenched. His eyes looked like burnished glass, cold and uncaring. I did not know he could look so fierce, or so deadly. It scared me. And his question confused me, as well.

"I had to allow if, or he would negate me as his King-Brother. I would not be King of Vietmar anymore." I explained to an embroidery in his overdress. A tear. How fitting. "And the same if I would have killed him. I would not stay King for long. Not without Chien as a future King." Chien, and his Clerres' features. Chien, as evidently a child of Vietmar as I was a barbarian. A true prince.

He frowned. I did, too. Could he truly not understand? I tried again.

"Only Kings and their Huans can be present at the Seventh Year meditation." I explained. How could he not know of it? He looked back at me, blankly. Then the most astonishing change happened over his face. His dark eyes widened slowly, so slowly, as his complexion paled. His hands gripped convulsively the desk and then laid lax and devoid of strength. I watched. It was like seeing winter coming. A terrible stillness swallowed him. He looked at me unseeing. The last time I had seen him looking like that, he was dead and frozen. Our bond was clear and transparent like glass, like ice. He was here. Cold as ice. The smell of the food, still between us, was nauseating.

"No." The word was a breath. Startled, I rose my eyes from the plates I was watching and looked at him. He looked ice-covered. He looked dead. "No. Not for me. Please Gods, let it not be for me." It was a naked plea, as heartfelt as the ones he had given to the night when I had revived him. As heartfelt as his begging the Pale Woman for a moment of respite. His imploring eyes met mine. I turned my own away.

"For whom else?"

I heard an intake of breath, jagged as a sword's trust. A jarring note in our Wit-bond, a blinding, dazzling kaleidoscope of razor-like light. Sharp colours, and a dissonant melody echoed desperately between us. He rose, so abruptly that the chair fell on the floor with a clacking sound. He stumbled out of the room, his usual grace deserting him, but still too fast for me, dumbfounded idiot that I was, to stop him.

The chair was still rattling on the ground, and he was gone.

I watched the chair, trying to make sense of what had happened, for a long time. Then I sighed. It was no use to go to him, now. It seemed we spent a lot of time running from each other. Perhaps we would tire soon, or we would run out of reasons to escape. Or so I hoped.

I eyed the food. Bitter Moon, I thought. I had to rebuild my Skill-Link with her. I would need strength for that. The smell of the food was enough to make me gag. I took a breath, and quaffed down the sweet-and-sour soup, not breathing until it was gone. The fruit felt slimy in my mouth, the vegetable reeked, and the white rice near choked me, but I forced myself to swallow it half-chewed. I took a deep breath, and drank the wine.

Then I rose and fetched a page, to search for my first Solo.

 

 

Bitter Moon came to me not half a hour later, after the serving woman had cleaned the tray. I turned to watch her. It had been a long time since the I had last seen her. She was short and plum, with black hair graying at her temples and placid features. She dressed simply, almost roughly, in hemp and cotton, even if she could have all the silk she wish for, and her garments are often soiled by herbs and potions. She used to be a wise woman in a village near Thang-Long, where she lived with her husband of thirty years, children and grandchildren, heeding the seasons rhythm and her lord's words. People being born and dying, crops to plant and to harvest.. The simple life of simple folks.

Then the demons came.

The village still stand, and many of Bitter Moon's children and grandchildren still live. Not all of them.

She had known me before I was Demonsbane or King Chihn. She smiled at me and bowed, but did not refuse to meet my gaze. I sat on the carpet and waited for her to join me. I was in no mood to speak. She sat, kneeling in front of me. I do not know if she used the pyote's juice. Perhaps she had before coming to me.

I reached for her, and found her reaching for me, as well. She let me lead, as we built slowly the Skill-Link to its previous strength, layer upon layer. It was hard work. It is always difficult to compare the use of the Skill, or of the Wit, to anything else, but it was almost like threading threads on a loom, to create a fabric. Or weaving a net from fibers. Bitter Moon's mind was different from Vien's and Chyne's. She has a calm I had always envied her, and a natural focus. Not one of her thoughts or emotions escapes her own notice. Perhaps it comes from working with herbs, in a more competent way either Chade or I ever did.

When we finished, she poured both of us some light rice wine. I gulped it down. A lingering Skill-headache thumped at my temples, but I was not as tired as I had been after weaving my Skill-link with Vien.

We still hadn't spoke a word. Such is often the case, with Bitter Moon. She can do silence like no one else I have ever met, aside perhaps my Dhil'a. But then, the Fool's silence entreats you to speak, whilst Bitter Moon's quiet is simple the lack of words and sounds.

She looked at her cup and broke it.

"My Queen told me she spoke with you, today." Her voice is as rough as her hands, and her accent is little better than mine. It did not surprise me, that Chundra had token Bitter Moon in her confidence. I had token to leave Bitter Moon with Chundra, as a way to relay message speedily between the Queen and me, ever since I had left for Waitan. She had no Huan, and Bitter Moon, even if she was a peasant's woman, was strangely congenial to the second daughter of a Queen, and Queen herself.

I almost choke on my wine. She smiled at me, slightly.

"Yes I… Tell Chundra I'll give her…" I paused. "I'll give Vietmar a prince." A Farseer Heir. I brushed the thought aside, like batting away a fly.

She nodded. She didn't look surprised. She sipped her wine with an appreciation that only old women can muster.

"The Queen and I supposed you would. I have given her the herbs. She will need not much of you, your Majesty." She deliberately winked at me. I winced, and decided that I would do everything in my power to avoid having her, Snowcloud, Jek, and the Fool in the same room. Then I glanced up at her. The reasons for Chundra quick coming to Waitan became clearer.

"Very well. Advise your lady that… I'll come to her tonight." Tonight. I glanced out. The rain had just finished, and the sun was approaching the horizon, lightening a road of gold over the ocean. My heart sank.

Bitter Moon cleared her throat.

"I could give to Your Majesty something to help him…"

My face burned. I did not look at Bitter Moon. I nodded, a quirk gesture of my head, before I could check and stop myself. I may need whatever she wanted to give to me.

She left soon after, the gossamer threat of our rebuilt Skill-link stretching between us. I blocked it, as I had blocked the one with Vien. Not now. I forced myself to drink a potion for rest, and slept a couple of hours.

Then I took what Bitter Moon had left to me, and went to the Queen's Quarters, glistening with the oily light of the lamps, and shining with both amber for Vietmar and Amethyst for Uzkabat. I went to Chundra.

It was not like what I used to share with Molly, but neither it was like what Sendàr did to me. Every person is different when you bed them, and I have mercifully few memories of it. Bitter Moon's potion saw to that. I remember the regret, that I could not give Chundra more, for she deserved it. I did a duty for a people that I had come to think as mine. I did my duty that night, and the other three after it. This is all there is to say about it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo apparently some people on a RoE forum I am in got a pre-edition copy of the ebook (legally, a gift). Something absolutely horrid and tear-jaking happens in the endn. They could not tell what, but in a book titled Fool's Assassin, we can all guess... Even more so because Robin Hobb seems to have taken lesson fro GRR Martin lately...
> 
> I have cancelled my pre-order from Amazon, if you had something similar I would do the same. Personally I ain't going to spend money for that.


	20. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed chapter! I really need to get a new beta I fear, I hoped Emanuelle would call back but, well... She hadn't in two weeks :( I'll try my best in the meantime, forgive me!
> 
> If anybody is interested: nothing is going to change in this story coming the new book. I am not even sure I'll buy or read it, because frankly I like my headcanon a lot u.u And I am wary toward the author. So this will stay the same, I'll just change the tag taking away the "post-canon" one, putting something like "Alternative post-Fool's Fate" :)
> 
> Thanks as always to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

** Interlude **

_The summer sun burns the city, sending all the colours aflame._

_The place, bright and white and clear-cut, would be painful to watch, if not for the tall trees that shades its streets. The glass mosaics over the buildings reflects the light in a thousand of rainbows. Colours glitter on the streets, gleaming with gold and silver and bronze.  The perfect circle of the various floors adds to the effect, allowing for endless, reciprocal reflection._

_In the center of the city, in the shadows of the tallest tree and the tallest house, white people dance._

_They dance in pairs, movements more synchronized that mere learning could make them. Step, pause, step. They are not tall, and they are petite and slender. The clothes they wear are as colourful as their city. As colourful as they are colourless.  Blues and greens and reds and yellows. They sings, too, a wordless song, pure, fine voices rising in the sky._

_The young man watching above looks down, and thinks of a spring plain, spotted by flowers. He is perched on the tallest building, sitting in the full blaze of the sun. He thinks of stags competing for the does, of sparrows singing. Most of all, he thinks of birds dancing for their mates._

_He is almost naked, with only a loincloth around his slim hips, and he is barefoot. His shoulder is  puckered in a hideous scar that creeps over the neck and eats half of his face. His long air is sleek and blonde, the colour of straw. His features are strong, yet fine. Gray-blue eyes sweep over the dancers. Flint bites his lip. They are shorter than he is, their eyes larger than his own, and unmoving in their sockets and they have no ears. But, like his, their arms and legs are long and slim, their hips and chest narrow. Their foreheads are high, unmarred by brow ridge. Like him. And unlike the people he had grown up with._

_Flint shifts in his precarious seat._

_"Be careful, Dhil'a." Flint turns toward the window behind him. Vanyel looks at him. His grey eyes, large, the same colour of his skin. Darker patterns, not unlike vines, crept from under his clothes and around his temples, curling there like newborn ferns. Flint follows them. Vanyel's pupils are large, larger than usual, and his slender feet jerks at the rhythm his blood knows, even if his ears don't hear it._

_Flint watches and raises his knees to his chest._

_"Your people mating dance is beautiful." He says. He speaks in a harsher tongue than the one used by the gray man._

_Vanyel watches him. His voice mirror the language of his Dhil'a when he speaks._

_"Come inside. And dance with me, Dhil'amin." His voice is soft and quiet. Yearning._

_Flint closes his eyes._

_"I don't think I can give you a nestling." He snorts. "I couldn't give her one, neither. And we are… different." A flush spreads over his unscarred cheek._

_Vanyel chuckles._

_"Neither do I. I care not."_

_A pause. Flint turns his back to the dancers, to watch the White._

_"Come inside. Dance with me."_

_And Flint does._

_The hills are aflame with summer and sunset._

_The prairie is spotted by flowers. Reds and yellows and blues brightly shines under the boundless sky.  A rainbow in the earth, instead that one in the heavens. The wind caresses the stem, small blue-bells almost ringing under its breath. It is a soft breeze, warm and smelling of green things and life, a younger brother of the harsh one that scoured the plain during the winter, freezing everything at its passage. The grasses aren't as tall as in the North, cut down by the trees' need of food and water and by all kind of creatures._

_Animals scuttle about, going to the safety of their nests and dens. All size of them, from the smallest rodent to the biggest spotted deer, their antlers wider than a man is tall. The does walks around, some fat with the fawns, some with their own prickets already about. Newborn mice whimpers in their underground lairs. Quail's chicks trampled behind their chucking parents._

_In the city, the people scuttles, as well, each pair going to their own house, the forges' fires flicker one last time, being backed for the night. Potters and weavers and craftspeople leave their works and go home._

_Vanyel looks at the emptying street in front of his house, the tallest one, the central one. The last sunlight reddens the street, and even one not cursed or gifted by his Sight could see the omen of the end in the dimming light._

_The Dhil'a sighs, and close the door against the night. His feet echoes in the tiled floor of the corridor, illuminated by lamps. Their flames are immobile in the still air. The White opens a simple bronze door._

_A echoing room opens in front of him. It is almost as big as the whole building, and circular. It is hot, too, warmed by the fire always carefully tended in the furnace room. The floor is so hot that Vanyel winces and dances to move thought it._

_"You should have remembered your shoes, Dhil'amin."_

_Vanyel snorts at Flint's teasing voice and looks around._

_Then he spots him._

_Flint is standing in front of the first eggs having been laid. They reach up to his knees, coloured in all the shades of the rainbow. Like the city. Like the clothes of the people. Swirls and patterns graces its shells. It is beautiful, like the sunset outside is beautiful. It is propelled over straw and sawdust, not to be in direct contact with the hot stones below._

_Flint's fingers caress it delicately. He smiles shyly at Vanyel that danced closer, his scarred face making a grimace of the gentle expression. But Vanyel can see beyond the scars, and smiles back._

_"It is strange. I never thought I would find this so… normal."_

_Vanyel snorts again. "It is normal. I don't even want to think about how your people do this."_

_Flint chuckles a bit._

_"There are lots of your people. They do the most amazing things." Flint's eyes sweep over Vanyel's clothing. The multicoloured stone sets in a complicated gold frame made of tiny wires. Flint himself is dressed in only a light leather loincloth, and shoes made of the leather of mammoth. His skin glistens with sweat. "And your children are… strange." Flint speaks carefully, as in constructing the thoughts as he goes. "They don't… learn. I have never seen one of them doing it. They just… do things." He shrugs and takes his hands away from the egg._

_They walks in the open, dim, hot room, Vanyel still dancing to avoid the most of the heat. The White nods slightly. "Not as many as we were. But yes, why should they learn? They know they will be able to do it. So they do it. Or not." Flint looks at his Dhil'a and takes a step toward him._

_"I heard some of them lamenting a person's death in a hunt, yesterday. I thought somebody had died and was hoping his spirit would go with the wind, but then the person they were singing for went to hunt." He comments and heaves. Vanyel gives a yelp as Flint take him into his arms. Then he snorts again and makes himself comfortable, his head, feathers and sleek hair, gray as his skin, nested over Flint's shoulders. Flint keeps walking toward the door opposite to the one Vanyel has taken before. This door is silver to the other bronze, but as plain and simple._

_"Yes. He was going to die, so they were crying for him."_

_Flint frowns. He stops his walking and stand, almost in front of the door, looking nowhere. His forehead is wrinkled. Vanyel twists in his arms to look up at the man, his Dhil'a._

_"Why did he go, then? Why did he not stay inside, if he knew he would die?" He asks, slowly, uncomprehending._

_Vanyel shocks his head. "No. 'tis not so for them. They do as they see. How else could they all live, Dhil'amin? They must follow the pattern the Wheel had set for them."_

_Flint frowns again and walk on. He let Vanyel down just in front of the door, and opens it. The White looks at him, quietly. His head reaches Flint's shoulder._

_"Like the time I spooked the hare away." Flint says, slowly. Vanyel blinks. Flint smiles at him, sideways. "Remember it? You never failed to catch something, and bragged to me you knew the hare would come to you. I was so annoyed I scared the hare away from your path." Flint chuckles, walking on. The flight of stair is narrow, a spiral like so many thing in the city. The banister is bronze, beaten into strange, curving patterns and wheels. Flint's fingers ghost over it. Lamplight flickers over the gleaming bronze. "I was so frightened when you didn't come that night. I wondered what had happened. You really had to wait that hare out, didn't you?" There is a teasing tone in Flint's voice. He stops in front of a door, of wood this time, and carved in the same strange, eerie patterns of the balustrade._

_Vanyel sighs. "I remember. You scared me that time.."_

_Flint's hand stop over the door, and his shoulders tense. Vanyel smiles to himself, bemused._

_Flint opens the door without a word. The room is circular, somewhat smaller than the one on which is on top. Four windows, covered by glasses, open on the room, two of them left ajar. Inside, there is only a nest for birds as big as humans, made of branded wood and fabrics, filled with soft wool and linen. The fire is lit beyond a stone heart set in the center of the room. There is no metal, nowhere. The wind enters by the windows and stop to ruffle the fire flames._

_Vanyel sighs. "I have… learnt, Dhil'amin. Of your strength. That day, when you scared the rabbit away. I learnt how strong you were._

_Flint laughs out loud, a strangely booming sound in the empty room and goes to kindle the fire. The flames wake up and graces the room with their dancing light._

_"I am very strong. I can scare away rabbits." He says, teasingly. But Vanyel doesn't smile._

_"Rabbits. And death." He confirmed, softly. Flint freezes. The fire cackles._

_"I know you, Dhil'a. You thought of it."_

_Flint says neither yay nor nay, his back to Vanyel and his eyes to the fire._

_"Thank you. That you didn't do it. He would not have been able to live beyond his Sight, beyond his Fate." Vanyel's voice is softer than the fine plumes on his back, softer than the softer woven cloth. Flint bites his lip and says nothing._

_Vanyel walks to him and put his cool hand over his Dhil'a shoulder. Flint shudders and leans to him._

_Outside, the sky is black and dotted with sky. The gibbous moon rises over the sleeping city._


	21. Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed chapter! I really need to get a new beta I fear, I hoped Emanuelle would call back but, well... She hadn't in two weeks :( I'll try my best in the meantime, forgive me!
> 
> I have searched for a new beta but alas, no luck till now :(
> 
> Thanks as always to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

 

 

** Chapter Sixteen: Silver **

 

 

_The law in Vietmar is divided, like all the Law of the White Land, in several Chapters: those are the White Words (_ ling _in Vietnamran) and the Law of the Land. The first are common for all of Clerres and pertain to prophecies and words of the White Prophets themselves. They also code the behaviour on the White Roads. Those are the highest of all Laws in Clerres._

_The Law of the Land pertain Vietmar proper, and are divided in Kings Orders (_ lü _) , Statutes (_ ku _) and Precedents (_ bi _). They are given in order of precedence. The total of the first two and the White Word is called the Canon._

_To issue a Kings Order, both the Kings of Vietmar and the Queen must write and issue it during a special ceremony. If one of the Kings is dead, then one or both of the Great Lords must agree on the law. Once decided, all the_ lü _become part of the Canon._

_Statutes pertain each of the two Province. One of the Great Lord can emit a Statute, but one of the Kings or the Queen must approve of it publicly, and the other King or the Queen can veto it. Once done, this become a part of the Canon for the Province, but has no bearing in the other one._

_Precedents are similar ruling in precedent cases. They are not a part of the Canon and are not binding, but are often used to debate minor matters._

_Abstract from "Law of Clerres"_

_By Great Trainer Kheor_

 

The morning after the first night I spent with Chundra, Chyne came from Fisil.

I woke with a searing headache. It had been a result of Bitter Moon's draught, but I welcomed it more than I would have welcomed the memories of the night before. It was a lovely morning, as lovely as the days during the Rain Season so often are. As I watched out of my windows, to the sapphire blue sky, I couldn't help but smile. Each and every leaf sparkled as a jewel, brighter than stone-dragons in the sky, and the World looked clean and pure. Again I was reminded how some Kham's people believe that the World is new in the days following the first monsoon. I smiled. It sure looked like it.

The air smelled good, too, of clean earth and paint. The seagulls, cormorants and other seabirds called to each other, trying to snatch the morning catch from the fisher's boats. The noises of construction went on, but in that morning that too sounded well to me, a testament of something being built. I rose and went to bathe. The baths in the Garden Palace is one of my favorite feature of the castle. They are fed by the same warm well that spring in the hidden vale, and cut in the live rock. In truth, it was an accident that the builders discovered when they cut my quarters, but in their credit they had been swift to turn it into a gain.

I was drying myself when Vien slid into the room. He was dressed impeccably in brown and cream, his headdress perched on his dark hair like a crow. He smiled to me and spoke.

"Chyne is coming, my liege. She skilled to me. Not one hour, and she will be at the gates." I glanced at him, wondering whence his good humor came. I nodded.

"Very well, help me choose something suitable…" My voice died in me. As my Huan walked toward the wardrobe, I realized why he had been so glad.

He had been speaking to me in the Six Duchies' tongue. Haltingly and not well, and I doubted not that he had asked to Chyne for help in the phrasing, but still, it was a remarkable accomplishment for one who had less than a moon of learning behind him. I shook my head and submitted to the dressing. One of my first fight with Vien had been on my refuse to wear robes, save in the most formal of occasion. They are stilting thing, prone to bind about legs and to make me more clumsy than I wish to appear. I had to resign myself to long tunics and trousers or leggings, complicatedly embroidered. That day it was a long tunic the colour of saffron, and trousers in a slightly fairer hue. They were embroidered with black threads, and trimmed in black. I looked at the embroidery. Spiral patterns resembling cloud or leaves. My mind went back to the ruin of the White City and I frowned. I pondered about contacting Snowcloud, but thought better of it. Chyne was coming soon. I had no time to devote to a lengthy conversation with my bonded companion. As Vien shaved and combed me, without ever touching me, I looked out of the window and thought about my daughter.

It was good, to see her again. As she dismounted her horse in the gardens I watched her from my window. Strange, how not seeing somebody for a time may give us new eyes on them. She was lithe and strong, her face so much alike the one of my old mentor that it made my heart ache. Yet her movement and something in the built of her body bespoke of the Mountain People. Suddenly, I thought of my mother, and of Cunning. I shook my head and waited. She would come to me soon enough.

As I expected, not a hour passed before she was at my door. She entered in silence and regarded me. I frowned. Then I remembered Vien's reaction and opened my arms. She hugged me fiercely, betwixt laugh and tears.

"Father… Father."

"Hush." I hushed her. I smiled and looked at herwarmly. "I missed you, little girl."

She grinned at me. "And I you." She danced back, laughing gaily and I was reminded of the little girl who would play among the stays in the Future's Pride, leaving me half mad with terror and shouting to come back right now. I shook my head fondly, trying to ignore the headache that Bitter Moon's draught had given me. Better a headache than memories.

"In more than one way. It is… good to see you so recovered, Father." I sighed and went to sit at the fireplace. It was a cool day, if not a cold one, as is often the case in the Rain Season, and a small fire had been lit in the heart. She followed me and sat in the armchair, crossing her legs and raising an eyebrow to me, a strange hunger in her eyes. For a second, I wondered about telling her I was not as recovered as I wished, but in the end I thought better of it. She had no need to know and much need not to.

Looking at her was strange, as it had been strange when I woke from my Time of Vision and abruptly regarded humanity as alien. Something that had linked us for long was not here. I almost tried for our Skill-Link. I blinked. Of course. The desire to rebuild the link, the old Skill-hunger, battled with the pain in my head as we looked at each other, each seeing in the other face a mirror for a shared craving. 

I desired that link, more than I had desired the one with either Vien or Bitter Moon, I realized.I wondered if it was because I had one with Chyne since she had been old enough to learn to Skill, or if it was our shared blood that made me wish for it. I rubbed my temples and groaned.

She grinned at me and extended her hand. I looked at her uncomprehending.

"Let me do it, Father. For am I not the Skillmaster?" She asked, only half joking. The idea was unpleasant, yet I could find no reason to refuse without insulting her. So I nodded.

She re-built our Skill-Link with an easiness that left me at once proud and wary. Her mind was logical and sharp as a sword, and her Skilling precise and swift. Where I had needed a whole afternoon to create a link, she required but two hours. When she broke off, my heart went after it. It was a far purer connection to the world than my feeble senses. As I opened my eyes again I looked at Chyne with marvel. She was adept in the Skill. More so, I had to admit, than I was. There comes a moment, for all parents, when you realize your children have surpassed you in what you taught, and it is at once the proudest and the saddest of feelings. So it was then.

Chyne smiled at me and I at her. She stood up, catlike, and stretched.

"I am hungry, Father. And then we have to talk." I groaned. She laughed. I gestured to my desk, where as usual Vien had left something to eat. She went and sniffed, appreciatively, coming back with steamed bums the kind that is usually filled with spiced meat. She bit into one and handed me the other. I was not hungry, but knew better than to refuse. Was not me who had taught her to always eat after Skilling? So I took the bums and bit into it.

She swallowed. "First of all: Fisil is in peace. Suen's House has made a great show of integration into Waitan, to the point of inviting the Aspyrgend in their house. Other Liantharinan's Houses have reacted with mixed feeling and there had been some scuffle in the street, but nothing beyond control. The first harvest had been plentiful. The Great Sail Fleet has come back to Dushanbe, and Fizek told me the profit looks good." She winked at me. "Only two ships have been lost in a tempest. We thought three, for a while, but the third came out all right in the end. The captain, a fellow by the name of Olyuben Tha Chai,claimed they have weathered the storm in a previously unknown island, but the admirals thinks it is simply one of the one we already known." She shrugged. "It was described as practically bare, so and there are many like that." She grinned at me. "I have done a good job, though how I could have done it without Citymaster Lang I do not know." She bit into her bum again, evidently enjoying the telling. I smiled even more.

"And I heard you have here my best discovery." She added, wringing her eyebrow. My smile faded. I nodded.

"You did not tell me she is mute."

She hesitated a second, then shrugged. "She had not been born so. It was her father's sentencing to death that did it." Her green eyes clouded, like a meadow after a cloud's passing. "She is the one who gave him away, I am told. I would wager she feels… guilty to have spoken. This at least is what I was able to gather from my initial contact with her." I nodded slowly.

"Ly Dámáu Kaan. Kaan Bloodstone." She blinked and stopped chewing, and I rose an eyebrow. Did she really thought I wouldn't make inquiries? "What was he sentenced for?"

In the moment I made my query I knew she had been hoping I wouldn't ask it. She averted her eyes and chewed slowly. I waited. Sometimes the question we don't want to answer are the one that most need a reply.

She sighed. "He spoke against the White Prophets. He called them "murders, slayers, liars and demons in humans' skins." I quote here." She added, quickly. "I gather he was quite drunk. Quy heard and, in the way of children sometimes, repeated it in front of a servant. The servant was a new one and had a grunge against the barbarian and so… Father? Father, are you well?" I could hear the concern in her voice, but I could hardly answer her. The blood had gone from my face. I can't describe what I felt, for how can one describe the icy breath of Fate? But as she spoke, it was like the Sun had gone cold and distant, and the land had lost green and life. All was bloodless. I gagged on the mouthful of bum I still had.

"Kaan Bloodstone." I repeated. An Outislander. I closed my eyes. I knew, so very well, why he had spoken thusly. And suddenly the reason of Ly Durc Khiem for leaving the little girl with me made so much more sense. Odd, how a single piece of a puzzle can give a different meaning on the whole. Because for a lesser Tü House such a stain would be grave indeed. Better to ensure that the little lady would grow up far from it, beyond reproach. Yet there was something more, and I could not name it to my worried daughter, no matter how much I wished to do it. There was a nagging feeling, of something half forgotten, half remembered. I would speak with the Fool, I resolved. He had took a shine to the little girl, and he could help me. For this was the very stuff prophecy was made of.

I tried to smile, but Chyne knew me all too well. I casted around to a change of subject, before she could ask questions I did not want nor could answer.

"Did you hear of Little Lord Bui?"

Her face grew somber. She nodded. "I feel guilty, Father. If I had not told all I had discovered a child with the Skill, and a girl-child at that, perhaps…" Her voice trailed off. I sighed. It had not been a wise decision, but when had eighteen years olds be wise? I had fared worse than her in my time.

"We do not know what killed the child. It may have been a natural illness." I reminded her. She looked at me with skepticism, but nodded. I could tell I had done nothing to assuage her guilt. But perhaps it would be better, if she could learn some caution from this.

"You will have to teach the little lady. She is going to be Chien's wife." I added, slowly. She nodded again, with no surprise.

"And what about a King-Brother for Chien? There is none of good age in the Quoc-Cong Houses, Father. One Quan-Cong has a boy of four years that could do. House Wey, of the T'ma province. But this won't sit well with the Lords of the West and the East, and neither would searching for a child out of Vietmar. Not so soon after one King-Brother was already been appointed from outside." I sighed and stood. I looked at the bum in my hand. There was perhaps one bite left in it, and I forced myself to eat it.

"There will be soon a rightborn King-Brother for Chien." I said, quietly, not looking at her. I heard her gasp, then she leapt and hugged me fiercely.

"Father, I am so glad! A little brother, or sister then?" I had not thought that Chundra could conceive a daughter. I fervently hoped it would not be so, even as I held Chyne to me. "Can I tell Fizek? We won't tell anybody else." She promised me. I nodded. Fizek was as trustworthy as a mountain spring is clear. She kissed my cheek.

"Well, I am going to tell him. And I am speaking as a Skillmaster. Rest today. You had to rebuild many Skill-Links in little time. It had done you no good." I nodded again and smiled, ruefully.

"I shall. Take care, Chyne."

She laughed, merry again. "When I don't? I'll be glad to speak with Bitter Moon in person, it had been moons. I had not seen Jek, though. I had asked about her already, but I have been told she had gone to the Artists Quarters."

I groaned inwardly.

She laughed again and, with a last kiss on my cheek, left, springy as a doe. I went to look out the window. As I contemplated the harbor and the sprawling city, I wondered how many people would have to know about Chundra and my attempts. Chyne and Fizek and Bitter Moon. My Fool. I had no doubt Vien knew already. It was enough for now, I decided. If we could stop the Lords of the East and the West from tearing each other apart for some moons, we could probably set the thing with the minimum amount of bloodshed and chaos. I fervently hoped it would be so. Then an idea sprang into my mind. I quested toward Vien. I admit I relished the Skill-Link with all my solos. I smiled.

_Vien? Come to me._

I felt his surprise, then his acceptance. He wasted no words. I waited, looking out, my eyes resting over the gardens now. They were as pleasant to look from above as they were to walk into. Green of leaves and a sparkling, dazzlingly array of flowers in all the colour of the rainbows, for the Rain Season is the season most plants flower in Waitan. I looked at the Artists Quarters, nested among the most gay of blossoms as a egg in a nest. Jek was there. I had no doubt she had gone to see Auburn, or Amber. I knew not what would come of it.

I could perceive Vien's familiar presence before he entered, and turned to face him.

"We shall call the Lords of the East and the West herein Waitan, to discuss the Schooling Law." I said, without preamble. His black eyes grew wide, and a slow smile spread over his face. He folded his hands in his sleeves. I had no need to explain more to him. It would keep the Lords at once where we could contain them and in a situation that was unfamiliar to both of them. Neither would feel strong or settled enough to attempt anything untoward, and well I knew how even simple change could confuse the people of Clerres. This had never been done before, the discussion of a law in a place other than Dushanbe. Yet it was entirely proper. Vien's smile widened still.

He nodded. "I would do well to speak to the Queen, my liege." I nodded back. He had spoken in the language of Vietmar, this time.

"Do that. And advise that tomorrow I'll keep the Low Council. I am sure behind in the petitions." I eyed my desk, where the paperwork about the low folks who had asked for my ruling had piled up. Some I had already given to either the Citymaster or the Aspyrgend to sort, but some would require my judging. "And send up some tea." I added. Vien nodded again, bowed and left.

I sat on the windowsill and looked toward the Jungle. I took a deep breath, and quested toward Snowcloud. I could feel her, but faintly. I had expected nothing else, for she was very far from me. I could not get any clear word across, but I tried to send her my worry and a wordless question about the shaman.

Then I waited.

Her answer came, fragmentary as I expected it. The overwhelming perception was of worry. The shaman was fighting, and fighting strong. This much I could gather. I perceived a dim sadness and mourning. Others had died. I tried to send her I would think of something, but I couldn't tell if she had received my message, faint and poor as it was, or not. Somebody knocked at my door. The tea had arrived. I had been so engrossed into trying to communicate with Snowcloud that I had not noticed it.

As I turned to greet the servant, I knew the reason of my overlooking.

Beloved, my Keppet, stood with the tray in his hands. Her hands, should I say, because he had still the garments of a Vietmar's woman. A long under-dress of flowing silk in a deep green, with golden embroidery and a shorter over-dress of cream, with embroidery in the colour of emerald. Her sash's hue was impossible to tell for the many wooden beads that were applied over it, in a spiral pattern, fair wood against a darker one. Wooden earrings dangled from her ears, unmatching, and her long, chestnut hair was bound behind her neck. It enlightened the sharpness of her feature, though he kept his head down as he set the tea on the desk, making space deftly among the paperwork. I smiled at my friend.

"I thought you were speaking with Jek." I said, leaving my seat. I didn't ask how he had managed to catch my tray. He had always been resourceful.

He sighed. "I was. She had something to tell me." The wry humor in his voice made me smile all the more.

"Well, she had always been a sharp one." The smile died on my lips and my voice in my throat. He had turned as I spoke. I could see his face. Anger rose as bile in my throat. I reached with my hand to his chin and almost forced him to show himself to me.

His right eye was swollen. He had applied his powders with customary skill to hide the bruise, but there was no mistake in the mismatching of his features, if one looked carefully.

"Who did this?" I asked, in a voice I scarcely recognized as mine. He took a step back, almost in a dance, and smiled ruefully.

"Jek. And it was nothing more than I deserved, and probably much less." He added with a crocked smile. His answer drained my anger like the channels drain the rain. I blinked.

"Jek?" I replied, stupidly.

He nodded. "Yes. I told her of my idiocy in your regard, you see. And she saw fit to explain to me what she thought of it. She had always had a way to make herself clear." He touched his eye gingerly. "She told me I deserved it, and I wholeheartedly agree with her. This, and much more." He shrugged. "I hoped I could hide it from you, but…" He shrugged again.

I blinked once more. "I did not know I had a champion."

He laughed and my spirit soared. I reached to him, through our bond, to try to gauge if he was more hurt than he looked. He was not, and his normal state was so puzzling to me still that there was little telling if he was more or less perturbed than usual. But when he laughed, it was like a thousand rainbows glistening in the sky after the rain. I breathed more freely.

He blinked and looked at me with wonder in his eyes. Then he frowned. I waited. I could feel something, like fingers prodding at me. I squirmed. Then my eyes grew round and a wide smile spread again on my face. I welcomed the feeling, and felt something like sparkles dancing in my mind, a laugh that was not a laugh and a wordless reassurance, not unlike the one I had shared with my beast-companion not long ago. I looked with fondness to him. Snowcloud was right. He was learning, at his own pace.

I sat on the desk. He followed suit, folding the long gowns with practiced ease.

"I heard you made friend with the Little Lady." I said. He nodded as he poured the tea. The smell was warm and pleasant. Jasmine, I recognized. The tea-set was a thing of beauty in the finest of porcelain with gold inlaid. I am always afraid to hand such objects. I fear to break them, which is something that had happened in more than one occasion.

"Yes. She is afraid and withdraw, but I like her well enough. She is gentle with flowers and had took to Conmeo. He is helping her, too." I stopped sipping the tea.

"Conmeo? Don't tell me." I groaned. His laughter illuminated the room once more.

"Yes, I have a cat. Rather, Auburn has a cat." I buried my face in my hand, theatrically. He laughed again. Warmth spread through me.

"Oh, he is not so bad, Fitz. I am sure you will like him."

"Doubtful." I murmured, to the wooden desk. Then sighed. "Nothing to do about it I suppose." He laughed once more, the merry sound I remembered from our childhood. I hid my smile in my hands.I could take the cat, if he made him laugh.

"The little Lady likes the Artists Quarters. And I think she has… Potential. She needs time, and patience." I nodded and rose my head to look at him, thoughtfully. It was a matter I could very well leave to him. The idea lifted my spirit considerably. I doubted I was the most appropriate person to help the little girl.

"Very well. I thrust her in your hands. Chyne plans to teach her to Skill. Chyne means well, but sometimes she is too blunt. She puts so little store in her emotions, that she disregards others', too, sometimes."

Beloved nodded, sipping the tea himself. "I noticed. She has a lot of Chade. And of you." I smiled at him.

"She does, doesn't she?" I sobered and lowered the cup. He seemed to understand my mood, because he did the same. I regarded him and bit my lip, searching for words carefully. I needed no foresight to see the ways this conversation could go wrong.

"Beloved?" He asked, softly. His use of his name to call me heartened me. I took a breath.

"I had… forgotten much of what happened just before my… Illness." I glanced at him. He nodded back.

"I supposed you would."

"I have remembered recently. Keppet do you… Do you remember the ruins? Of the city?" He nodded again.

There was no gentle way to say it. I wondered if he would bolt again. It was becoming an habit.

"It was a White place."

He looked at me, blankly, the steaming tea forgotten in his hands.

I tried again.

"A White city." How could he not understand? "The people with the foresight? Of the legends? You told me about them."

He blinked. His slender, gloved hands were still wrapped around the cup, but he seemed to have forgotten it. He was looking at me with the intensity I could remember so well, his cinnamon eyes that seemed almost luminous in the light from the open window. Deliberately he put his hands on the desk, as if by feeling the wood he could center himself. He stared at me, his strange eyes getting wider and wider. Then a grin broke over his face. He stood so suddenly he nearly overset his chair, and then lunged at me to seize me in a wild hug. He drew a deep breath as if something that had constricted him had suddenly sprung free.

"Yes."He whispered breathlessly by my ear. And then, in a shout that near deafened me, "Yes! Of course it was!"

I blinked. I hug him back, enjoying the feeling of his slender body against mine. I had feared his reaction to my news so much, that his answer did more than puzzled me. It brought a relief so keen if was almost physical. I breathed out and felt my shoulder unknot. He danced away from me, laughter in his eyes.

"How do you know of this?" He asked me, the ancient lights in his eyes again. It was my Prophet, and my Dhil'a, once more. Odd, how I welcomed what had once confused and bewildered me. But as much as I was glad of this proof of his regained Sight, I feared this question, and even more the answer I would have to give.

"I shall tell you if you promise me you won't run away again." I retorted. His fey mood did not abated. He smiled with chagrin and nodded, looking at me with impatience, fidgeting for all the World like a fine horse kept too long in a stable.

"I had seen it. In a vision." He halted and frowned. His right hand rose to touch my temple, the touch cold in spite of the gloves. I almost leaned into it.

"You had more than one?" He asked, slowly. I nodded back.

"I had three. I would have had four, I suspect, but my last one… You know how it went." A shadow passed into his eyes and he nodded. I regarded him carefully, but he didn't seem inclined to bolt once more. It was, I reflected, a marked improvement.

He sat and crossed his arms over his chest. He cocked one eyebrow at me and balanced the chair on its hind legs only. His antics were so expressive that I smiled. I sat back and took the cup. His acceptance of my visions was as unexpected as it was welcome.

"The second one was fourteen years ago, and the third four of five. But it is the second that was… important, I think. I had just come to Waitan then. It was hard too. And long, it lasted for almost a fortnight."

He rose an eyebrow, intrigued. "Two weeks? That is very long. The longest one I had was half the time."

I nodded back. "Yes. I… I don't know if I could call it a vision of the future. It was mostly about the past. About the Whites." I glanced at him. His curiosity was so strong I could see it etched in his features. Our bond glimmered betwixt us, and I could feel his hunger for knowledge. I at once desperately feared and fiercely desired to teach him. Even if I had always been aterrible teacher.

I sipped the tea to buy time. A tactic that did not fool him for a second, if his stare was any indication.

"The Whites were… very good with charms. The first people who learnt how to use them, I think. They… used it in their cities, to protect them. I think that it is what the Shaman is trying to steal."

He nodded slowly. "It must be stopped." I glanced at him, wondering how I could stop him from saddling a horse and going there himself. Because it would be more than foolish, it would be sheer madness. He was not fit to go to the Jungle and twice not fit to fight a Shaman and its demons. My thoughts must have been plain in my face, or else he had learnt to read our bond better than I thought, because he made a small, self-deprecating smile.

"Not by me. Though once that Shaman had been driven away you won't be able to stop me from going in that city if you would try." There was a shadow in his voice. Something passed in our bond, between a memory and a warning, of a time in which I tried to stop him doing something he felt he had to do. I nodded and held his gaze. I would not try it again. He relaxed and smiled once more. "But by somebody." I looked down, searching from an answer in the golden depth of the tea.

"Not by me, neither. I am not healed enough, and I am needed here. Some other Skilled one must…" As my voice trailed away from me, I knew. I almost winced. Of course. Was I not the Catalyst.

"I'll send Chyne. And Bitter Moon. Both have experience in fighting demons. And Chyne is known by the Khams, and speaks their tongue." As I spoke, I could almost feel the Wheels in my mind. A twinge of pain passed through me. A throb like a dull red foreboding followed it. I sighed.

"You will send Bitter Moon, and you will send Chyne. But you will fight this Shaman, Beloved." His words did not surprised me, nor the resigned tone in which they were delivered. I nodded and gulped down the tea. He did not say if I would win the fight.

"Perhaps. And here we are again." I did not notice I had said it aloud 'till his voice, soft and quiet, answered.

“Ah, Beloved. How can you continually forgive what I do to you?”

There had been many hard, difficult questions in that day. Questions where I knew the answer would not be welcome, or was feared. Yet none as much as that inquiry in a breathless voice. Neither it was the first time he had asked the question. But this was the time I would give him an answer. I lowered the cup and rose my gaze. His own eyes were huge, and filled in equal part of fear and fervor, and many other emotions I could neither name nor understand. Yearning, perhaps.

"I can't." I answered back. For a second it looked like many men I had seen, when a death blow had caught them but before the pain is truly felt, as only the surprise of the impact is sensed. I rose on my feet. "There is nothing to forgive. You are who you are. And I am who I am. And we shall be us, together." It seemed a riddle fit for the white jester he had been. But we had been together long.

He looked at me uncomprehending. I extended my hand to him. "Come. I have to send Chyne and Bitter Moon to fight the Shaman, Keppet. And you have a future Queen to cater for." I snorted. "And a cat."

He put his hand in mine slowly and rose. An expression of wonder lit his features. He smiled so very slowly at me. I smiled back.

I had no doubt his words would prove true. I would have to fight the Shaman. I would have, too, to tell him about Vanyel, and Flint, of the last true White and the first true Man.

But not now. Now my Dhil'a snorted and laughed his clear laugh and shook his head, his sleek hair dancing on his back, and sprang into my arms with a sob. He buried his face in my shoulder, to hide his expression. I put my hand on his nape. His hair was finer than the finest silk. I breathed in and smelled no scent.

It was enough, and more than enough.

 


	22. Steel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to welcome my new beta, Serie11! Many, MANY thanks to have saved me from the pit of unbeta-ness I was slipping in. Thank you!
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks as always to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

** Chapter Seventeen: Steel **

 

_There are several People among the Khams. Those can be divided as such:_

_\- The Free People, bonded to wolves and living on the ground and_ preferring _open spaces;_

_\- The Panther People, bonded to felines, who live on the ground and in the lowest branches of the trees;_

_\- The Monkey People, bonded to monkeys and living in the trees;_

_\- The Deer People, bonded to hoofed animals, not only deer, who prefer open spaces;_

_\- The Bird People, bonded to birds, and living on the mountains;_

_\- The Sea People, bonded to any creature that lives in the oceans;_

_\- The Human People, bonded to domesticated creatures._

_Those are by no means the only possibilities. Boar-bonded and fox-bonded too_ exist _, do many more. But those are not tied, not even loosely, to a single People or hunting ground, and roam as they wish._

_Each of those People has a unique culture, and it would do well to remember it.Even among the formal arrangement of "People" there are wide variations in levels of organization and mutual help, with the most organized being the Free People, who hunt and live together, and the least the Panther People, who only loosely think of themselves as one. The Deer People form close bands, formed by individuals bonded to the same hoofed beasts who roam from pasture to pasture together. The Monkey and Bird People have both close bands and informal alliances, as befitting to their animal companions. The Sea People are a reclusive lot, and some are said to live in boats, never to come ashore. The Human People, the youngest of all of them, are more formally organized, in a strange combination of Khams and Vietmar behaviors._

_No account could be complete without mentioning the elusive and sacred Tree People. They seem to exist, and their words bear a great weight on every Kham, yet very little of them is known. A very common conjecture about them regards the treatment of children, since no People carry their human young with them. When asked, the Kham's answer is that human children grow  so slowly that they would encumber the People or the parents, and as such they are left "to the Tree". It is speculated that the Tree People grow the whole of the Khams' population until the days when the child is old enough to go and search for his or her beast partner. It is often wondered if a child without the Siòng magic is ever born among the Khams. If it is so, then it is not likely such a child would be allowed to live for long._

_Yet this is and stays a speculation, for no amount of probing or asking has yielded a more precise answer. A part of it may be my status as a Huan. Most Khams seem to be highly uncomfortable in our presence. Still, inquiries by others have not received more information, so it may well be a common reticence._

_"Some Notes About the Khams" by Great Trainer Khoang_

 

 

Sending Chyne and Bitter Moon to fight the shaman was at once easy and hard. Harder would it be, had they not made it easy. Both fought shamans before, and Chyne in particular relished battling Demons in the way youths sometimes do. I never have. But seeing her green eyes come alive at the prospect, I wondered once more how much of it was herself, and how much she was of Chade and her unknown mother. Bitter Moon took the newsplacidly, as she is wont to do and set to prepare in the most efficient way. I left them to discussion of supplies and roads. I had no doubt that Chyne could negotiate leave with the Aspyrgend, nor that Lym would grant it. I would wager that the Kham's ambassador knew already of the fight between the Free People and the Demons.

When they left, deep in discussion, I went to Chundra's quarters. I did not sleep there. I had no desire to do so, and couldn't if I tried. So I came back into my own quarters and took a long bath. When I entered my bedroom, I was surprised to see the Fool's curled shape in my bed. He was either asleep or making a good impression of it. Something in me relaxed as I took my place by him. I was not healed enough to sustain myself without either of my bonded companions presence. We had all learnt it. I feel asleep with his silky head on my chest, and I slept soundly. I did not dream.

The day after I sat in the Low Council from morning to late afternoon, relegating the care of the night festivities on Kar - Jast Folres, the Little Lady Quy on the Fool, and the informing of Chundra over my decisions on Vien. I used to think that the matters discussed in such gathering were only boring and wearisome issues. Experience has taught me otherwise. Tedious and wearying they may be, but only a foolish king or lord would discount what one can learn in such a setting. Repeated grievances are often a sign of something either missing or afoot. I detected none of it that day. Just the usual requests and complaints that can be expected in any place. Bä Ka Lhir Tien, the third son of a Bä House of the West province, claimed that the monsoon had flooded his house because his neighbour upstream had not respected the law about the banks. This proved to be true, so I condemned the neighbour to pay for the damage and to repair the river banks. A merchant claimed that the goods he had sent with the Great Sail Fleet had not been stored properly, and thusly had been damaged. And so on. Fizek sat court with me and with the Dockmaster. As I watched him giving statement on the Great Sail Fleet I felt again pride in the young man. A pride I had little reason to feel, as I knew all too well. Still, the lad had grown up into a steady man, and few fathers would fail to take personal satisfaction in such a thing, for as little they should.

After a while, I took interest in the common folks woes. By reading betwixt their tales, Silvarin and Fisil seemed to be thriving, and the amount of grievances toward the Khams appeared to be decreasing. I managed to finish most of the petitions that had piled on my desk during my illness and left the Royal Audience Chamber in a high spirit. My good mood lasted till I entered my room, and found Gao there, waiting for me.

I looked blankly at the boy. The first thing I noticed was that he must have took good care of his lesson with the Aspyrgend, for I had not been able to detect him in the Wit. The child had grown during the time we had not seen each other. He was lean and strong, with hair the colour of mahogany and eyes between blue and green. He was dressed in a servant garb, and he was kneeling in the courteous way in front of the door. He raised his green-blue eyes but not his head as he saw me enter and bit his lip. With a jolt, I was remembered of Great Trainer Atid's words. Gao wished to become a Huan. The child was ward of Kym-Ly, but we both knew he was mine in truth. I stiffed a groan and gestured to him.

"Stand up, child." I had never been able to understand how the people of Clerres can stay kneeling for hours at time. It always leaves my knees sore.

Gao sprang up like a young buck. He was barefoot. I walked in my study and he followed me.

"My king, I wish to become a Huan," he blurted out.

I sighed and sat in the comfortable armchair. Gao took the other seat, gingerly. He was squeezing his hand between his knees. I could understand why a child from a poor family, or with neither family nor any to take care of him, may desire to become a Huan. Better than starving in the street. But Gao had plenty of food, and chances for himself. The wood of the chair's arms was silky under my fingertips as I passed them over the carving. The hour was the one of the red light, and the clouds were already gathering for the night shower. But for now, the daylight bathed the amber room in crimson, the last call of the workmen echoing in the distance. I did not speak, watching the shadow of a gull over the carving of a cloud. The silence stretched. Gao dropped his eyes, and his shoulder sagged.

I sighed.

"Why?"

My question seemed to surprise him, and he lifted his eyes to mine. "To be Chien's Huan. Of course."

I nodded. "I gathered as much. I have been told what a good work you did with him when I wasn't here." He smiled. I felt a pang of remorse and pain. My son was in the Palace, and I had not yet seen it. I resolved to do so as soon as possible. "But Chien could very well choose somebody else, Gao." It was the most tactful way I could think of to say it.

To my surprise, the boy nodded.

"Yes, but in that case I can very well stay here and learn and teach. You may need a pair of eyes inside the Training Hall." The child‘s pragmatism was unnerving. "And perhaps you and Queen Chundra will have a King-Brother for Chien."

I think it was only the long habit that allowed me to avoid giving myself away. I regarded Gao keenly. The child‘s eager face showed nothing but hope. I relaxed. Others knew not of my pact with Sendàr. It made sense that they expected an heir, I told myself. Again, I looked at Gao. He was not even ten years. How could he make such a decision for himself? I had just started learning my trade as an assassin with Chade at his age. I knew the procedure itself was not painful. There were ways, Great Trainer Atid once told me, to make one sleep and wake up only after the surgery. I had no desire to inquire further.

"What does Kym-Ly says?" I suspected he had not spoken to his ward of that. Kym-Ly is a practical, energetic woman. I doubted she would accept such foolery.

"She agrees. She thinks it is a good idea."

There had been times when I have thought that I have learnt all there is to learn about Clerres and the people who inhabit it. Time and time again I have been proven wrong. This was one of them. I was, am, a man of the Six Duchies, and the idea of what is needed to become a Huan fills me with revulsion. For me, only the direst circumstances may force a child into such a choice. But Gao was a child of Vietmar. And in Clerres there is much honor in being a Huan. As I watched his hopeful face, I felt keenly the distance between us, and between me and my foster country.

I sighed. Then I thought on Vien. Vien, without whom I would never have been a King, nor would have succeeded in Clerres. Vien, who had fought with me both in the battlefield and in the court politic. Vien, my Huan. Was he less than many intact men I had known, that had neither his bravery nor his loyalty?

 I nodded, slowly.

"If it is your wish… You have my leave. You can go to the Great Trainer Hall."

Gao jumped on his feet and smiled broadly. I sighed again.

"You can go." I said, turning my head toward the window. The sun has set, and now the darkness was engulfing the Palace. Gao bowed and left hurriedly.

I watched the last sunrays die, and then went to change. Vien appeared by me. I did not ask him if he had heard my conversation with Gao. I knew he had. My Huan did not comment on it, helping me with my grooming and chatting inconsequentially on the days happenings in the Queen's court and among the Artists. I listened with one ear, and tried to steel myself for the dinner banquet.

I participated at the feast in which was made the formal announcement that the Lord of the East and the West would come to Waitan to discuss the Schooling Law. The tidings were met with the obvious buzz of conversation. It would be a marvelous opportunity for Silvarin, for both the Great Lords would bring with them a long retinue, and the law of Vietmar forbids a lord to keep a house in any place of the country save the one they hold and Dushanbe. In a more settled time between the two Houses it may have been that the Garden Palace would have to house both the Lords. But with the present animosity one of them or both would chose to reside in the city proper. I resolved to talk with both Kar - Jast Folres and Great Trainer Atid. The city itself would need more guards to keep the men of the two lords from each other throats. I doubted the Lords themselves would try anything untowardly, not under my and Chundra's gaze, and not in a foreign setting. But I have often noted how simple men-at-arms sometimes take upon themselves to fight the battles their lords studiously avoid, and I wanted none of that in the streets of Silvarin.

The feast itself was a simple enough affair, as far as those go. I can't say I enjoyed myself. Then again, I very rarely do. There was the usual vast array of magnificent food provided both by the kitchen and by the guests, and then lively entertainment, music and dance. I soldiered through all of it.

That night, I went to Chundra once more. Bitter Moon prepared the draught again, and then for the second time I came back to bathe and sleep next to my Dhil'a. I do not know how he managed to come and go from my quarters. I never asked.

The next day, Chyne and Bitter Moon departed. They were alone. I watched them go from the windows of one of the towers. The Fool's words weighed heavily on me. He had told me I would fight the shaman. Did that mean that I was sending them to their deaths? The thought made me sick with worry, but I had no way to talk with him. We met only in the deep of the night, and we were both too fatigued to speak then. Sleeping together proved enough to avoid me relapsing into my mindlessness, and I slept better and woke more rested than I had in years. I did not know if the same was true for him. His role as Auburn took him to the Artists Quarters before my awakening. We saw very little of each other.

So time passed. Chundra and I were busy preparing for the arrival of the two Lords. To both we sent words that the Garden Palace was not as yet ready to take their retinues. It was true, but it would also avoid us having to choose which of the Lords should be given room in the Royal Palace and which would have to find accommodation elsewhere.

The day after Chyne and Bitter Moon‘s departure I learnt that Lord Nyugien Hai Cahn and Lord Trinh Lai Xuan would come, leaving behind the Lords Trinh Hu Hai and Nyugien Hai Dahn, their brothers. This too was in accordance of the customs and another reason all people in Vietmar think their use of having two brothers marrying the same woman is an eminently logical one.

Amidst the madness of those weeks I recall meeting Chien. It didn't go well. The child remembered me in my time of mindlessness, and the memory was not a pleasant one. Neither was for me seeing my son fleeing me and retracting in the arms of his nanny. Chundra remarked that children of that age forget soon. I hoped it would be as she said but I had little time to dwell on it.

We did not decide in any moment to send Chien away to Fisil. It seemed obvious to both of us. There was still the possibility somebody had killed Little Lord Bui and if so, Chien needed to be protected. By Vien I learnt that the Little Lady Quy had taken residence among the Artists. This reassured me. The Artists of the Artists Quarters are used to the open roads and the high courts both. They are more jagged and shrewd than many would believe. Any attempt to the Little Lady‘s life would be hard there even without Auburn's watchful gaze.

I spent the time working on all that had been left behind during my illness. I read the reports of my spies in the rest of Clerres, worked the petitions of the minor and middle nobles, signed and dispatched the accounts about the Great Sail Fleet, perused the latest tidings from the army and did many other things that make the day to day ruling of a kingdom. I had never realized, neither when I was only a bastard in my grandfather's court or when I helped Prince Dutiful during my months in Buckkeep, how many wearisome and boring tasks ruling is made of. But then I was too busy being resentful of any perceived slight on my freedom to understand. When Sendàr claimed me as his King-Brother I thought I would be well able to take the duty. The years between the proclamation and my falling with Sendàr proved me wrong tenfold. I had never been truly raised to be a king. Never I had known how much more my life wouldn't be my own if I hadn't been just a bastard, nor appreciated my relative freedom as simply the illegitimate royal son. I shook my head more than once at my own foolishness.

I also relented to Fizek and Jek's pressure and issued a decree that would allow the Great Sail Fleet to reach directly for the Seven Duchies, using the route they had suggested. I had little time for them,  but we managed a dinner together the day before they departed back for Dushanbe, to prepare the Captains for the new route they would have to make. As usual, seeing the mother and son together was bittersweet. Jek was aging, though she was as lively and hearty as she had always been. I went to sleep with an uneasy mind, that night, and dreamed of winters and decay.

Two weeks passed between Chyne and Bitter Moon's departure and the moment they Skilled to me they had managed to ferret the Shaman away from the White City. They had been there for a week. We had kept regular Skill contact in the meantime, but there was little to report. She and Bitter Moon had managed to damage several of the demons, but not to force the Shaman into a direct fight. Snowcloud was well and happy to see her cub and fought as a she-demon, if Chyne's awed reports were to be believed. I had no doubt on that.

I did not expect the tidings that Skilling brought. I knew not what to make of it. The White City was free from the Shaman influence, and Bitter Moon and Chyne, with Snowcloud, could start the travel back to Silvarin. The news cheered me. I missed Snowcloud. But at the same moment they had not been able to fight the Shaman. It was not injured or dead. It may very well be that it was only biding its time to return to the City later. We decided that Chyne would stay in the White City until the Shaman was found. In case neither we nor the Khams could find it in two moons, she would  come back. The Jungle has a way to take care of the unwary, and I doubted that an Iduyan Shaman could survive alone in it for moons, with or without help from any of the People.

The last week passed in a frenzy of activity. Chundra and I had stopped meeting in the evenings, and we were waiting to know if there would be need to begin again. I hoped not. Our bedding never became a leisure affair, even if sometimes I think she would have wished for it. But I did not love her, nor could I force myself to. My mind and body still recalled Sendàr too well for me to manage the act without drugs that left me groggy and dazed. I still regret I could not give her what she deserves, but I could not do it more than I could sprout wings and fly. She never mentioned it and at times I would wonder uneasily how much she knew about Sendàr and I. I never asked.

So it was that one morning I awoke and Vien was at the side of the bed, already impeccably dressed and ready to prepare me for the day ahead.

I stiffed a groan and sat up on the bed, passing my fingers through my hair and looking out of the window. The sun was still far from breaching the horizon, the ocean as dark as the sky above  it  and just as filled with stars. Right now, I remembered, the Lords of the East and the West were on their ships, making the last miles toward Silvarin and probably trying to race each other. I stood up from the bed and unthinkingly took the robe my Huan gave me. I walked towards the steaming bath to begin grooming.

The last few hours traveled as fast as lighting itself. The only moment of relative peace I had was when I argued with Vien over the choice of clothing. White is sacred in Clerres, and, while pure white is for the White Prophet alone, all the kings, nobles and rules of this land favor light colours. But I desired to wear my black and gold outfit. A watered silk black short tunic, almost a doublet, that seemed to have all the shade of the night. A pair of loose black trouser of the same motif. Both had embroidery in gold on the hem, designed by me, of dragons and wolves and symbols that I, alone, knew the meaning of. A high gold sash with pearls of amber on my waist. The cut was of Vietmar, and royal if peculiar, but the colours and motif were not. I do not know why I choose them, aside from a whimsical desire to distinguish myself from the Clerres' nobles that despise me. I won the argument, not lastly because they were the only garments fitted to be wear for the occasion, but I had to suffer my Huan to braid my hair with the gold and amber coronet that in Vietmar only the King can carry, and to shave me. I still don't have the patience for it, but Vien is quite adamant about me going unshaven.

I fretted during the whole preparation, and barely contained my irritation. I hung my battle axe to my belt, more out of habits than for any precise reason. Vien looked, but said nothing.

The next couple of hours are a blur. I think I ate something around the time the sun rose from the ocean. The streets of Silvarin were sparkling clean, and the newly appointed guards would patrol them visibly. I smiled, remembering my talk with Citymaster Great Trainer Atid. It was one of the few smiles of the day.

There was not much left to do and, sooner than I wished, I found myself standing in the end of the Great Stairway in the main hall of the Garden Palace, awaiting Chundra. I know very little about the complex system of elements that dominates Clerres' architecture. I have been told that the Garden Palace is set in a perfect place, since it is on Water, carved in Earth and close to the Air. It has Fire, too, in the hot water that steams from the cliff. A perfect place, everybody says. I wondered if the Great Lords would remark on it. Most likely.

I never had the chance to rehearse the words Vien had painstakingly taught me. I was idly looking at the staircase, pondering how different yet alike it was from the one of the Amber Castle when the screams came.For a second I stood immobile as the statues that surrounded me. Then I sprung toward the windows.

Fire spread from the outskirts of my city. I watched, and the colour drained from my face as the truth hardened into my heart. I have seen fires, both natural and manmade. I have seen the forest fire that can destroy whole woods, leaving behind nothing but charred trunks. I have seen fires in towns, both great and small. I knew well how much destruction such a fire could do.

But this was not such a fire. This was a much worse one.

 _VIEN!_ I roared. I was already running down the staircase, toward the stable.

 _My Liege!_ He was not close. Of course, he would be on the docks, to ensure the Lords' Ships arrival went as it should. Well, it wouldn't and there was nothing to it.

_Vien, there is a demon in Silvarin. And the Shaman. Protect the Garden Palace, find Atid. Avoid panic._

I could feel his dumbfounded incomprehension, but I had no time for it. I lost no time in locating a stable hand and went directly for Toiden. Of course. The Shaman had to know the Jungle was no place for it. It had left, possibly even before Chyne and Bitter Moon had noticed it. And went to Silvarin.

I took Toiden out of his stall and mounted him bareback, batting away the hand who tried to help me. Then I rode into my city.

The fire was spreading and with it the panic. By far too a fast  a spreading for a natural fire, but few would notice that it was a Fire Demon that had begun it. But I had no time for any of it. I had to trust Vien and Atid to handle that. I knew my Huan had already found the Great Trainer. I spared a glance at the dock. The two Lords' Ship were docked.

The Shaman was not trying to be subtle this time. It would try to seize a boat. I followed the fire, choking in the heavy hair. People streamed past me. My mind went back at the Battle of Thang Long. There, too, there had been people running away. I broke my trance and tried to find the core of the Fire Demon. It moved fast, following the main road that cut Silvarin in two, from the White Road to the docks. Yes, this shaman was not trying  for subtlety. It suited me. I was tired of subtlety as well. I forced Toiden to gallop in the middle of the road, ignoring the people, the smoke and the destruction of my beautiful garden of a city, while rage blazed in me like the flame of the Demon.

The cries of the young watchman from one of the Watchtowers of the docks broke my fury. “’Ware treachery!” he cried out, his shrill voice deepening as blood engulfed it. “We are attacked!” Then, a shout. "SHAMAN!"

I spotted it.

It was not trying for subtleness indeed. It was in its full regalia as an Iduyans Shaman. A whole bison fur went from his shoulders to the ground, littered with beads. In his right hand he held a short, stout stick with several coloured bands, and in his left the wide, round and shallow drum-shield, as wide around as my arm is long. The mask hugged his head, a circlet of metal around his forehead from which three deer horns departed, with weaved pieces of red and blue cloths between them. The same cloth hung in front of its face, like a veil of shredded fabrics, preventing everybody from seeing it. It held the Shaman Scepter high, and two shapeless masses were at its side. At its left was what looked like a mass of seething fire, formless and ever changing as flames are. At its left a dark lump dripping ants that scurried in small living rivers back to the main body of the Demons. Both forms were as tall as a man is. It was an incongruous figure, immobile among the chaos of servants and nobles who tried to scramble away, screaming all the while. The festive, colourful banner put for the occasion burned bright, and even the gulls' shrieks were sharper over the ones of men.

 I had come in time. The Shaman had not yet been able to board any of the ships. It must have just arrived, probably donning the elaborate appeal close to the docks while its Fire Demon wreaked havoc. That had given me the few minutes I needed to cross the city. I knew with a crystal clarity that it would send the Demons against me and try to take hold of one of the vessels.

Toiden pranced and neighed. The Shaman turned and spotted me. It shouted something and its Demons attacked.

I lashed out with the Skill at the nearest one, and a lump of ants fell, crumbling on the ground and dispersing. The form lost shape and quivered, great holes appearing in the seething mass of insects. I took a deep breath and concentrated on the Fire Demon, my Wit giving me a target as clear as if somebody had painted over it. I focused my energy as if somebody about to leap, and lashed again. The flaming creature wavered like smothered, but it was so close I could feel its heat. Sweat broke on my brow. I wheeled Toiden away, backed up) and made him dance on the hard ground. His hind hooves clapped on the paved stones as he pranced around the creatures. We were behind the Demons.

I turned sharply and saw the Shaman dashing for the board toward the closer ship, scrambling madly to reach it. I did not think. I unfastened my battle axe and threw it in its way. Then I turned and lashed at the nearest Demon, trusting my Wit more than my eyes to tell me where to aim my Skill. The ants lost their anchor. The unnatural being forgot its own existence as it crumbled on the ground. The Fire Demon roared toward me. I lowered myself on my stallion's bare back, clutching fistfuls of mane and clenching my knees to keep my balance. Toiden backed away sharply and neighed. His pain was as scorching as if I was the one being burnt. I screamed in fury, drawing strength from my charger's pain and hauling it all toward the Demon. The creature frizzled like a fire when water is thrown upon it, and quivered. Toiden stomped over the last embers. I panted, my whole body trembling with battle rage.

Suddenly, I was aware of the silence. I blinked, shaking the sweat from my eyes and looking around. Greater and Lesser Nobles stood still, looking at me with wide eyes and seeing King Demonsbane. I forced my shoulder to straighten and my lips to cover my snarling teeth. I regarded them all. I spotted Lord Nyugien Hai Cahn, still on his ship, looking bewildered at me, and Lord Trinh Lai Xuan on the small dock, still paralyzed by what had happened. His boat was the one toward which the Shaman had dashed for. I looked at it. The body laid on the ground, its chest and head over the boardwalk, the great shield-drum floating over the peaceful waves behind, and my battle axe deep in its back. As I watched, my mind went back to my Fool's words. You will fight this Shaman, he had said. And I had.

The dripping of blood and the sloshing of the waves were the only sounds. Even the gulls were still.

I looked at the two Great Lords.

"I, King Xanhà Doi Chihn, called Demonsbane, welcome the Great Lords in Waitan." My voice sounded foreign to my own ears. "For how much our enemy wishes to divide and fight us, we stand as one against them." It was a poor speech, but you would not know it from the cheering. I saluted them with my head and turned Toiden around. I forced myself to Skill over the exhaustion that was dragging me down.

_Vien. Take care of the body. Bring it back to the Palace._

I felt his assent. I closed the connection. I trotted as nobly as I could toward the Palace. Cynically, I thought that I would have little problem in having the Schooling Law approved. Then something spilled into me, as welcome as cool water. A strange feeling, almost anxiety but not quite. I blinked and checked myself before turning my head. I smiled slowly, and felt my shoulders unknot.

I sent to my Keppet an assurance.

_I am well. You were right. I had to fight the Shaman._

I wondered as we passed the singed housed if he would be able to answer me in so many words, but he surprised me once more.

_I'll be in your Quarters._

I smiled more, my stinging eyes fastening on the Garden Palace. I almost forced Toiden to a trot.

 _Thank you._ I thought on it. My face and hands were starting to hurt _._ I glanced down. Red welts where the flames had licked me rose over my skin. _Bring cold water. And some medication against burns._

As I left Toiden in the expert hands of the Stablemaster, who reassured me the burns were all superficial, I felt relief so powerful I staggered out of the stable towards my quarters, breathing deeply.

It was ended.

Little I knew it had just begun.

 

 

 


	23. Silver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to welcome my new beta, Serie11! Many, MANY thanks to have saved me from the pit of unbeta-ness I was slipping in. Thank you!
> 
> The header of this chapter is NOT mine. It comes from "How the Fear Came" of Kipling, you can read the whole story here:http://www.classicreader.com/book/2742/1/ . I used it because it is just PERFECT.
> 
> Thanks as always to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

** Chapter Eighteen: Silver **

 

 

_The thunder was rolling up and down the dry, scarred hills, but it brought no rain—only heat— lightning that flickered along the ridges—and The One of The Tree went on: "That was the voice he heard, and it said: 'Is this thy mercy?' The First of the Tigers licked his lips and said: 'What matter? I have killed Fear.' And the One said: 'O blind and foolish! Thou hast untied the feet of Death, and he will follow thy trail till thou diest. Thou hast taught Man to kill!'_

_"The First of the Tigers, standing stiffly to his kill, said. 'He is as the buck was. There is no Fear. Now I will judge the Jungle Peoples once more.'_

_"And One said: 'Never again shall the Jungle Peoples come to thee. They shall never cross thy trail, nor sleep near thee, nor follow after thee, nor browse by thy lair. Only Fear shall follow thee, and with a blow that thou canst not see he shall bid thee wait his pleasure. He shall make the ground to open under thy feet, and the creeper to twist about thy neck, and the tree-trunks to grow together about thee higher than thou canst leap, and at the last he shall take thy hide to wrap his cubs when they are cold. Thou hast shown him no mercy, and none will he show thee.'_

_"The First of the Tigers was very bold, for his Night was still on him, and he said: 'The Promise of One is the Promise of One. He will not take away my Night?' And One said: 'The one Night is thine, as I have said, but there is a price to pay. Thou hast taught Man to kill, and he is no slow learner._

_And from that moment Man and Beast were parted forever.'_

From a Kham's myth: How Man Learnt to Kill

 

 

I do not recall how I made to my rooms. By the time I had entered the Palace proper I was all but staggering. I steadied myself and resumed my walk. It wouldn't do for the victorious King to be seen faltering in his steps. My hands, arms and chest burned, and if the tightening sensation I felt was any indication, my face was scorched. As the lowering storm is suddenly loosed by a bolt of lightning, so did the flash of light that seemed to fill my eyes herald the clanging of the Skill-headache that almost dropped me to my knees. I had not suffered from them in many years, but fighting Demons is not a task to leave even an accomplished Skill-Users without throbbing temples and wishing for elfbark. I think not even the great coteries of ages past could have done it without some symptoms and, for how much I have trained myself in the later years, I was not such trained. Some lore is best learnt in childhood.

Still, I walked on, unmindful of who crossed my path. I trusted Vien to care for the Great Lords and Great Trainer Atid to begin the necessary reparations. I could do nothing else.

I remember the door of my quarters with stark clarity. Several flowers were skillfully carved on it. Seven apples and magnolia blossoms for richness, chrysanthemum for intellectual accomplishments, lotus for enlightenment. It was, as everything else in the Garden Palace, a thing of beauty, but I was scarcely in the mood to appreciate it. I extended my hand clumsily and opened the door. I staggered in and fell on my knees in the end. The jolt made me groan.

Somebody collected me before I could fall on my face in the thick carpet. I knew who he was even with my eyes closed. I think I groaned and went lax. There was no need to try to support myself anymore. My Dhil'a was there. He would take care of me. All would be well. Strong arms supported me first, and I think I whimpered with the pain of his touch, gentle as it was, over my burnt (skin). As always, the strength in his slender body surprised me. He did not help me to my feet but lifted me bodily and set me on the bed. I didn't resist. By then I couldn't have if I tried, and had no wish to attempt (it).

How can I explain what I felt? Pain tumbled me in a wave, both (from) theSkill-headache and the agony of the burnt flesh. But I was tranquil. The damage, I knew, was of flesh alone, and the headache would pass. More, my Dhil'a was with me, as he should be. All was right. I tried to open my eyes. Spots danced on my vision. I groaned. A dark, tawny face appeared over me, shadowy eyes full of concern.

The cold cloth on my brow was like a shock. I retched with it, then took short panting breaths to get my stomach under control. I more felt than saw the Fool crouch down beforeme as I sat on the edge of the bed. He took my hand in gloved ones and his fingers fumbled over mine. An instant later, they bit down, pinching hard between the bones of my hand. I gave a startled cry, but something in me recognized the act. With whatever strength I had, I forced myself to lie still. Both of his hands found a place just above my elbow and pinched hard. I couldn't help but wincing and he winced with me, but he went on to my shoulder. Then on my neck, his fingers pressing in and up as if he wished to detach my head.

Then something went out of me. My head dropped forward on my chest, lolling on my neck. The pain was not gone, but it was much diminished. I breathed, as I had almost forgotten to do and waited for his gloved hands to find my temples, small finger resting on the hinge of my jaw. I was weeping, for relief and taking many shuddering breaths. The pain eased. I almost retched with relief.

I can't say I slept. It was not sleeping, but rather an uncertain dozing. I recall my Keppet anointing my charred flesh with liniment. But, even more so, I dreamed, but they were pale dreams, barely touched by the Skill, shifting and turning as if blown by the autumn winds. My mind seemed to have caught up and jumbled together thoughts as far scattered as falling leaves.

I dreamed I was running on four feet in the Jungle, jumping from log to stone and back again. My paws were white, but caked with mud and wet sand. In front of me another ran, as he had for a while. The Jungle was a beguiling mixture of smells and sounds, every flower's scent sharp, every monkey's call (as)clear as a ringing bell. The leafy canopy made ripples of the sunrays and they hit me only by change. I stepped on a puddle, sending countless small rainbows scattering. I plunged on. I was not hunting, in my dream. I was running to somebody dear to me.

I dreamed of a young man with yellow, unruly hair in a room that seemed to be made of cloth, that was and was not familiar to me. He was dressed in a colourful garb of simple wool and sat before a hearth and stared into the flames. There was no hope left in his face, and I felt that I was within the flames, looking deeply into his soft brown eyes.

I dreamed finally of a child with black hair. She was dressed in the traditional clothes of Vietmar, a cream-coloured tunic and fairer trouser. She was cuddling a wooden doll in her arms and humming to herself a soft song in a language I used to know, but I had not heard since I left behind my birthplace.

I woke slowly. The first sense to come back to me was hearing. There was music, somewhere, faint and distant, but pleasant. Cymbals and Duxianqin and violins. Then came touch, and with it the pain of my wounds. I moaned. Something shifted in the bed and a cold cloth was replaced over my brow. I tried to open my eyes, but they seemed glued together with stickiness. I moaned another time, and tried again.

"Fitz? Are you awake?" I blinked. Above me I could see the ceiling, carved wood like most of my rooms, but I couldn't care less for the skillfully engraved wolves and clouds over my head. I turned it with care and saw the Fool.

He was dressed again as a Vietmar's woman, this time in a rich brown-orange tunic, with embroidery over the shoulders and in the front of spirals and rays, that came down to his ankles. Two cuts showed a pair of trousers the colour of saffron. Mismatched wooden earrings dangled from his ears. He looked like a refined, thriving artisan and a lady. His cinnamon eyes were full of worry. I blinked again.

"I am well." I lied. From the look of him, my lie was as well as wasted. I looked down. My chest, my arms and my hands were bandaged, but the scorching pain was reduced to a dull throb. Over my heart, the opal with its memory stone rested. I lifted an eyebrow at my friend, who gazed back levelly at me, almost challenging me to question his decision on my healing. I thought better of it. "How bad is it?"

He shrugged. "Not so bad. Most of the burns aren't deep. They shouldn't scar." He smiled his smile at me. "Your attempt to glare at me would have worked better had you still had eyebrows." Mockery made music of his voice. I rose(lifted) a hand, awaking the pain in my flesh, and touched above my eyes. I groaned at finding nothing. My friend's laugh was not unlike sunshine.

"Vien left something to eat. I'll fetch it for you. You are all bones, Fitzy." He teased me, again. I tried again to glare, but he only laughed at me. I could feel his relief in our bond, that I was safe, and sound, and my pain nothing grave.

I could feel his relief in our bond.

I blinked again, watching the Fool like a simpleton. It was the very first time I had been able to use our Wit-bond to feel his emotions. Now that I was looking at it, it was nothing like what I would call relief. Yet it was the same feeling, as the hare is the same animal be it Spring or Winter. How can one describe the indescribable? He was harder to explain than the Skill was. His relief was clearer, sharper than the sentiment I would call thusly, and it shined through him like a ray of sun through a stained glass windows of the kind I saw in Bingtown.

But then, words can't describe a person.

I smiled again.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I could make sense of my surroundings. There were lights in the windows and a small fire burnt in the hearth. Over my desk a stack of unknown scrolls were haphazardly streamed(stacked?), a lamp lending light for reading. Cushions had been strewed around the fireplace, their soft colours and appearance inviting (you) to sit and talk. The Fool was stepping around them to set a kettle on the hook. I blinked my eyes, and for an instant I was back in the Fool’s hut in the Mountains, healing from my old injury while he stood between the world and me that I might rest.Then, as now, he created reality around himself, bringing order and peace to a small island of warm firelight and the simple smell of tea brewing.

I shook my head, slowly. Suddenly I missed Snowcloud as keenly as one would miss an arm. She was all we missed to be whole. I shook the feeling away like a wolf shakes away water from its coat. She was coming, I reminded myself. Soon she would be back. I thought about Skilling to Chyne or Bitter Moon, but rejected it. Any attempt to do such would only bring back my headache, and I did not relish the idea. There would be time.

He turned, smiling at me, a tray covered with a clean napkin in his arms. In a moment the Fool had drawn a table, the cloth covering the food had become a tablecloth, and he had set out food for me as prettily as any serving maid could have done. Silverware and a napkin appeared, a sleight of hand that made me smile some more, and then the Fool folded himself up on the bed. I looked at the tray in disbelief. A rich stew thick with vegetablesand gravy, a pot of butter and bread. Simple food that I had not seen in years. I touched with cautious the bread. It was still warm. I rose(lifted) my eyes to meet my friend's. He averted his gaze from mine, and a monogamy colour spread over his cheeks.

"You said you missed it." He said quietly.

Warmth spread through me. "I did. Thank you."

I started to eat, with far more relish than usual under the satisfied gaze of my Fool. The simple stew was cooked in the manner of my childhood and I found myself hungry for more. Without a word, he took the bowl and refilled from a tureen by the fire, bringing another loaf of bread. I ate all of that, as well. I was (as)famished as a starved wolf.

"Before you ask: the Lords of the East and the West are in Silvarin, safely housed. The Shaman's body is in the ice room. The city is already being rebuild(rebuilt), (and) the damage (dealt) was not extensive. It had been a day and a night. It is the morning of the second day."

I rose(lifted) my head sharply, my mouth too full of stew to speak. He grinned back and helped himself to bread and butter, using the buttered slice to punctuate his speech.

"Chundra has indicted the discussion about the Schooling Law for this afternoon, so I'll have to do something about your eyebrows. Or perhaps not. There are already a lot of interesting songs about how the Mighty King Demonsbane smote tens of (D)demons in a single blow. It may pay to remind to your dukes of that."

I swallowed and groaned.

"And how many sshamans?" I inquired.

"Oh, that vary too. Anywhere between three and fifteen." I rolled my eyes. He swallowed the bread and laughed. I glared at him morosely.

He did not even attempt to look fazed. He took away the tray and poured tea for both, then regarded me critically.

"I think we would better look at the wounds again." I nodded and took away the opal on my chest. It felt wrong, for me to don it. I ignored Beloved's glare.

"It is yours. And I don't have much reserves for a lengthy healing, Keppet." He said nothing, but took back the amulet. I watched it disappear under his feminine clothes.

I sat(up) on the bed, swinging my leg over the brim(edge) experimentally. I was feeling fine, I decided. The pain of the burns had receded to a vague throbbing. The Skill-healing had worked. We both helped taking away the bandage. My wounds were not completely healed as yet, but they were far ahead. In two, perhaps three days, I would be whole again. Such is the Skill, and as much as I mistrust it, I am not foolish enough to disregard its use. Not anymore.

Beloved eyed critically my chest, arms and hands, then nodded.

"It will do." He declared. "Now, some more ointment. Ah. The Little Lady had started to talk." As he spoke, he took a pot of exquisite alabaster, white and carved in spiraling waves, from my nightstand and took a dollop of liniment from it. I braced myself for the pain, but his hands were gentle and the salve cool. I sighed. Then blinked.

"She speaks?"

He nodded. "Yes. She sings, even more so." A smile played over his lips. It was not a human smile. He smiled like the creatures of myth that give riddles in exchange for life, and are told to be always smiling, whatever(whether) they deal life or death. I averted my eyes, unnerved. "I had not expected to hear that tongue again." He added, more quietly.

I recalled my dream, and frowned. Had I Skill-dreamed? It had been many years since the last time I did. I told myself it was merely a chance occurrence. Then I blinked. "Outislander." I said, without thinking. "She sings in the language of the God's Runes." It wasn't a question. Beloved looked at me piercingly as he unrolled a white bandage.

"One of her fathers was from the Out Island. His name used to be Kaan Bloodstone." I explained, to him. "He… was sentenced. To death."

My friend looked at me as he settled the bandage over my shoulder.

"There, all done. Yes, I heard of it."

"Did you hear why was he sentenced?" My voice was low. I stood up (slowly?)and tested my equilibrium. I could stand, I decided. And walk, as well.

He shook his head. His walnut hair was streaked with gold where the light hit it.

I took a breath. "He spoke against the White Prophets. He called them murders, and devils." I bit my lips. I was a coward, I discovered once more. I could not look at him and relate this to him. "I think he had reasons to speak. Personal, perhaps.Quy heard, and in the way of children, repeated it."

Stillness grew in the room, like rot grow upon a healthy tree. I stole a glance at him. His hands were over his knees, and his face was more like a mask of polished wood than like a living thing. I sat back on the bed. My weight shifted him toward me. Clumsily, I put an arm around his shoulder, and drew him closer.

He breathed out a puff.

"So. Since I think I know of whom he was speaking, and I happen to agree with him, should I be put to death as well? This could be an interesting riddle: what if a White agrees that another White was wrong?"

I snorted at his attempted levity. "Then one of the two is not a true White. Or so they seem to think, in Clerres." I amended.

"But you don't agree."

I tried to steal a glance at his face. But he had hid it in my neck, and my efforts were in vain. I looked out of the window, at the blue sky. A breeze came, cool and full of the brackish smell of the ocean and the pungent ones of tar and fish. His wasn't a question, but I answered.

"No. She was evil, and wrong. But she was a White."

He snorted in my neck.

"You seem to know a lot about Whites, Beloved." His voice was casual. I winced.

I had dreaded this conversation as much as I knew it needed. I glanced at the door, questing toward Vien. He was deep in talk with the people who were decorating the Main Hall. I almost groaned. There would be a veritable puppet show soon. I had no doubt the Lords would fall over themselves to approve whatever I did, not after the reminder of the problem the Iduyans still were. But that was not what was happening now. And now was important. There would be no last minute call from Vien to make me sort this problem or another.

I took a deep breath.

"I told you about the long vision I had. It was about… about Whites. No," I amended. "It was about a Dhil'a pair. They were called Vanyel and Flint. Vanyel was the White. A true White. Flint was…" My voice died in me. He was still in my arms, and listening. I could feel him in our bond, clear as still waters are. I bit my lips and sighed.

"I don't know how to explain. It is not that I don't want to. It is that I can't. There are no words for it."

He snorted in my arms. "And no time, I suspect. Soon Vien will come to dress you up for the ceremony." I groaned ad that. He laughed, a soft laugh like chiming bells. "But tell me that first. What is Dhil'a?"

The World stood still. A gull called from outside.

Dimly, I could hear the waves crashing over the cliff. I could feel him, his body against mine, his breath cool on my neck as his skin. My arm flexed and held him closer. O) the naked skin between the bandages his clothing was as fine as silk. His hair behind my cheek were finer still. I filled my lug and emptied them, slowly, heaving my shoulders.

"We." My voice sounded like a call, like a limpid note from a brass bell. It did not sound mine. Perhaps it was not. "We are Dhil'a."

He moved then. As he lifted his dark eyes to meet mine, I knew that he knew as well. When his slender, gloved hand touched softly my cheek, I knew he had always known.

 

The ceremony went as expected.

Soon after I had told what little I could to my Keppet of Dhil'a, Vien came to the room and helped me to comb, shave and dress. I let him and the Fool select my clothes. I knew better than to try to fight them both at once. The garments I had used to fight the Demons were charred beyond saving, but I owned too many other suitable clothes. They chose a white shirt and a gold tunic, with black embroidery of my design in the shapes of ancient symbols. The Fool's eyes glided over them, but he said nothing. The hems were black, too, and black with golden enamel were the high boots. The trousers were akin the tunic, but as the tunic went beyond my knees, they were not visible. The sleeves were as narrow as I could make them, and as such the tunic had a distinct exotic cut for the taste of Clerres. I accepted to be shaven and adorned with jingling earrings and a simple coronet. The Fool dithered for a while before painting two eyebrows over my eyes with his powders. I thought I would be ridiculous, but I was surprised not to notice the difference when I looked at myself in the mirror.

I then went to take my place. Auburn, as a simple artist, would not be present, so my friend made his way back to the Artists Quarters. To this day I do not know how he came and went without being noticed. I never asked.

For this rite, tradition mandates that the Kings and the Queen should be present before the two Great Lords and before everybody else. So I was alone when I took my place on one of the twin thrones. They are made of wood and gold and inlaid with ambers. They are similar to the ones in Dushanbe but for one particular: since it was I who commissioned them, I made sure it was possible to sit over them for hours without your rising stiff as a plank of wood. As I entered the room, I noticed that Chundra had already taken her place. I smiled at her and she smiled back. Recently we had only seen each other in the night, and the potions I used left me unable to make much conversation, even if I had wished to. I was relieved that she bore me no ill grunge about that.

Chundra herself was magnificent.

An elaborate gown would only have distracted from her.She was queenly by virtue of who she was rather than what she wore. She was dressed in cream doublet and cream trousers, with darker yellow at the hems and a belt covered in amber. Her long earrings too were complicated things of gold threads and amber. I nodded approvingly. She was barefoot, with her feet and her hands complicatedly painted in a yellow pigment. The cut of her dress was of Uzkabat, but the colour was of Vietmar, and royal. We both made a strange couple, both foreign in a land that had not seen our births, but neither of us could hide our origins. There was no sense in trying.

As I sat, she turned her dark brown eyes on me.

"Well, Chihn, it looks like I will be able to leave Silvarin after this ruling." She played with a lock of her hair, artistically left to fall on her shoulder.

My mind came back from political machination. I looked at her with wide eyes. She smiled sweetly and winked at me.

"Do you mean…"

"I do mean, yes." She brought one hand over her belly, thoughtfully. "Though it is still better to wait before an official announcement, of course." She added, pragmatically.

My mind was still reeling from the implication of her words when Vien took his place behind me. There was no time to think of it. I banished the thought and concentrated on the room.

It was strangely bare. We were the only ones to be sitting, as everybody else, including the Great Lords, would have to stand. This was not to eat, but to rule. The room was created almost as some theatres I had seen in my travels, with two levels. It is a rectangle, and its sides are at door level. But the center is three feet deeper. Four steps bring from the sides to the center of the room, which is decorated with a mosaic representing Clerres, the White Roads visible and all the countries made by tassels in their own precious stones. Waitan is made in yellow amber and green jade, a reminder of the Khams and their special role. I had ordered opal to be used for the White Roads. Looking at it then, I wondered if the Fool had noticed. The thrones are instead on a platform three feet above ground level. The result is a stark difference between the people standing in the room and the royalties.

The Two Lords would have to stand in the center of the room, their retinues neatly arranged on the sides. I attempted to relax over the throne, and waited.

The massive door, wood only in appearance, opened. Vien cleared his voice and announced.

" **Lord** **Nyugien Hai Cahn of the East and Lord Trinh Lai Xuan of the West!** "

The two lords walked sedately into the room, step by step, their eyes downcast.

Lord Cahn was the twin of lord Dahn, whom I met last time in Dushanbe. He had short, black, straight hair and a rather dark complexion. He was leaner than his brother, and if he was short he made in that by being as quick and eager as a cat. He wore a long, trailing robe in perfect watered blue silk, with yellow embroidery and the hems in a dark saffron. The cut of his tunic, in the custom of the T'ma people, was made so that it showed his chest. A single amber laid over it, kept there by a gossamer harness of silk threads coming from the tunic itself. I scanned his face for sign of pain for the loss of his son, but his features were closed. Still I noted new wrinkles in his face, too many for a man in his fifth decade. I averted my eyes.

Lord Xuan's mien was fairer. He was taller by all the head of Lord Cahn. His hair was a pale chestnut colour, and his eyes grey as slate. He wore clothes made to resemble a flame, and the very silk of his cassock woven so to look like a fire, with yellow embroidery to match and amber scattered artistically to recreate the effect of sparks. He was the younger of the two Lords Thrin, not even forty years of age, and the more savvy in politics. I wondered if he had ordered Little Lord Bui's death. I wondered if I would ever know.

Behind the two Great Lords walked their Huans. I knew them both, for I do not share Clerres' habit to think of the Huan as invisible creatures. Lord Xuan Huan's name was Nyatri. He was from Behit, a child of two White monks. Lord Cahn Huan's name was Deshi, and he was, like most Huans, from Liantharin.

The retinues followed at a sedated space beyond the two Great Lords, followed then by my guards. I scanned the people the Lords had brought with them, noting old faces and new ones, who was in the first row and who in the second or third. I noted Thrin Van Vuong and Nyugien Hai Tai, both youth in their second decade of life, come to learn from their fathers.

I waited for everybody to be in their places. Then I signaled to Vien.

Vien launched in a review of the law to be approved as lü, to become a part of the Canon, Vietmar's body of law. It was nothing I had not approved before, so I took small notice of it, looking instead at the two Lords. This could be everything from a mere formality to a lengthy discussion. Sendàr would not have approved the Law with me, and would have forced me to go thought this channel even had he lived. It would have been impossible for me to even call this assembly had not Chundra, even then, backed me. It was, I recalled, not the first time she set by me against Sendàr. But had I to call this conclave with my King Brother alive, it would have been a clear show of our falling. I was glad of Sendàr's death then, and that too was not for the first time.

When Vien finished speaking I raised my hand. The silence was deafening. Neither my Skill nor my Wit were of use with so many people present, and I had no way to gauge the Great Lords' minds. I could feel my muscle contracting.

"This is what the King desires. This is what the Queen desires. What does the West say?"

All eyes were on Trinh Lai Xuan. The Great Lord lifted his gaze, setting it in the vicinity of my collarbone. His voice was clear and devoid of emotions as he spoke, after a pause.

"The West shall follow the King. May the White Wisdom bring Clerres into a prosperous Future."

Relief flooded me as monsoon's water floods a river. I almost smiled.

"And what does the East say?"

For a moment as Lord Nyugien Hai Cahn straightened himself I wondered if grief for his son would make him refuse the law. It would be pointless now. It would become a part of the Canon, but a man could make a point even in setting himself to lose.

"The East shall follow the King. May the White Wisdom bring Clerres into a prosperous Future."

I let go of the breath I had been holding.

"So it shall be." Chundra said, and it was ended. A gong resonated, once, twice, trice, to signify a complete agreement of the Royal House and the two Great Lords. Everybody waited till the last note had died down, then they started to pour out of the room, first the lowest person, and by and by in increasing rank. It took more time than the deliberation itself had, though I had needed many moons to craft the proposed law, and many more to convince Sendàr to propose it to both Lords. This was only the last act of a lengthy campaign. Yet, I could feel no satisfaction. If I would have to give a name to what I felt, I would have called it incredulity. It had been too easy.

In the end the two Lords left, walking step by step as they had entered. When the doors closed behind them, Chundra turned to me with a smile.

"This went well, Chihn. They will desire to come back to their Provinces, I expect, though it won't be before another half of tenday or so." Five days of ceremonies, rituals and celebrations. I groaned.

She laughed.

"You can always claim your sickness. And you battled Demons." She regarded my bandaged hands. "They will understand."

"I'll try to be here as much as possible, Chundra." I promised, rising on my feet. I don't have the diplomatic instinct that some of my bloodline are said to posses. Whatever I know has been painstakingly gathered. And I knew that my presence at at least some of those entertainments and rituals would be necessary, just as it would be best to abstain from others.

She nodded. I glanced at her, my gaze falling over her belly. Not now, I thought. It was still too soon to think about it.

"We still have that Shaman in the Ice Room. Somebody took care of it?" I asked, turning toward Vien. He shook his head.

"No, my liege. Nobody desired to be… too close to the Shaman." I nodded. I was not surprised.

Chundra stood up as well.

"I'll leave the Shaman to you. I'll have to prepare to be back in Dushanbe, as well. And it is not good for me right now to do too strenuous activities." She added, with a smile. I nodded again.

We left the room. Vien fell in his place behind me. I should have been happy, I suppose, for the smooth approval of the law. A difficult law to be accepted, and making sure every child truly got to learn his or hers letters and numbers would be an altogether different challenge. Still, it was at least half done. And yet, that feeling that it had all been too easy kept resurfacing in me. I missed Snowcloud. She would know what to say to mock my fears. Suddenly, I understood why my Grandfather and many afore him had kept fools in their courts. I sighed and started to take away the grand tunic.

Vien gasped.

"No, I don't plan to go to the Ice Room in my shirt. But neither do I want to lose time." The rite had been only relatively short. It was twilight. Soon it would be dusk. The Ice Room is sealed in the night, to avoid losing heath when nobody has business being there to retrieve foods and such items that are best stored cold.

I went to my quarters to change in a simpler garb. The Ice Room was too carved in the mountain, but far from the rocks heated by the thermal spring. Ice from up the mountains is stored there, with sawdust, and it was kept cold during all the year. New ice would have to be put in soon, I thought, then dismissed the idea. It was Kar - JastFolres' duty, not mine.

I left the more polished part of the Palace, walking where the rough stone met the carved wood. There were far less people here, save when important meals required the work of all of the palace‘s kitchen. Now, simple lamps illuminated empty corridor in a yellow light, creating strange shadows where the uneven stone had not yet been cut to perfection.

Just before the door that led to the Ice Room, I stopped. Vien almost collided with me. I lifted one hand.

_Be still, Vien. There is somebody in the Ice Room._

My Huan frowned and glanced on. I needed no Skill to gauge his thoughts. Only somebody who didn't fear the Shaman would dare to go there now. Or a friend of theirs.

I walked on, stealthily as I had been taught as a lad, glad that my new garb was in duller clothes than the previous one. I chose the most shadowy part of the corridor, my Wit and Skill alert. I think Vien would have once tried to stop me and to alert the Guard, but by then he knew me too well. He had no training for this kind of furtiveness, so he stayed where he was, waiting.

The door was ajar. I frowned. Yes, there was somebody inside. I opened the door a bit more, steeled myself against the cold, and went in.

The Ice Room is a single room, almost rectangular, and both the floor and the sides were cowered in ice blocks. Several shelves, cut roughly in the stone, were packed neatly with various kind of food. Hunk of frozen meat hung from the ceiling, quarters of beef and pork and venison. The cold was palpable, my breath visible in front of me.

I crouched behind a shelf carrying an assortment of vegetables and looked around carefully. The Shaman had been put on a lone shelf amidst other empty ones. The corpse was partially frozen. I avoided looking at it. My eyes were caught by the small, black head that was bent over it. My heart stopped in its tracks.

Little Lady Quy had moved the Shaman's arms closer to his body, and crossed its ankles in the way I recognize being important for the Iduyans' people in the caring of their dead. She was putting two coins over its eyelids, a custom common in many countries. I watched, dumbfounded. Why was she here? The child lifted her head and frowned, glancing around like a scared bunny.  Her green eyes were huge and tears streaked her cheeks. Remembering she was Skilled, I hastily rose my walls.

_Vien, clear the way. It is the Little Lady. I want to follow her._

_The Little Lady?How…_

_I don't know. Clear the way._ I perceived Vien‘s assent.

I moved to retrace my steps. I should have remembered I was not anymore a youth. My shoulder hit a bundle of squash. It fell on the ground before I could even think to catch it.

The Little Lady jumped and let out a small scream. She turned sharply. The fear I saw in the child's eyes hurt. No child should look like that, ever.

There was no way to hide, and why should I? I was King Chihn, not an assassin, sworn to secrecy. I rose from behind the shelf and smiled at the child. Relief flooded her features. She was a beautiful child, of the kind who would be a beautiful woman one day. Her smoky black curls framed a face with features more of Vietmar than of the Outislands, and her green eyes were big and soulful.

I do not know what prompted me. When I spoke to her, I did so in the language of the Out Island. It had been many years from the last time I spoke it in a consistent way in the Future's Pride, but I had to use it here and there in the betwixt years, mostly talking with merchants. And I had taught it to Fizek.

"My greetings, Little Lady. I did not know you would come, as well." The language was rough and imprecise. But the Little Lady smiled at me and her shoulders relaxed. She bowed at me, deeply.

"I should have known you would come, too." By the way she looked at the corpse, I wondered if she knew I had killed it. If not, she was probably the only person in all of Silvarin, possibly in all of Vietmar, not to. And something else. I regarded her and chose my word carefully.

"Indeed. I am sorry for what happened."

She nodded back, seriously.

"My Father told me you were with us, even if many others wouldn't agree. And Ghuozi too said you were. You saved his life. You would have saved my Father's life, too, he said." I heard her words with growing alarm, but said nothing. I extended my hand to her, and she took it in her small own. A sense of dread fell upon me, chilling me to the bones. Yet I knew I had to ask for more.

"I am always with you, Little Lady." I said. She smiled back at me. We started to walk out of the room, slowly.

"I didn't know it. But it fought with me, and Other Father always said that you must honor your fallen comrades. So I tried." My soul was growing colder than the Ice Room. I extended a hand to open the door and spoke, as casually as I could.

"It is ahonorable thing you did. It did die for something it believed in."

She nodded, her small face crouched with pain. The lonely lamp was not enough to allow her to see my own features, thank Eda.

"He died like my Father. To end the cruel reign of the White." She spoke with fierce determination. It was a good thing, that I was turned away from her as she spoke, or, child or not, she would have understood her mistake.

I opened the door and called for Vien. My Huan appeared, as he is wont to do. He smiled at the Little Lady, as it was the most normal thing of the World for a daughter of a minor noble house to give death honour to a dead Shaman.

"Vien,  take the Little Lady back to the Artists Quarters." My voice sounded almost normal in my ears. I think Vien caught that something was amiss, for he looked at me for a second too long, before herding the Little Lady away. I stood still end alone, my back to the cold of the Ice Room, my front looking at the maze of corridors in front of me.

Like the shards of frost in a lake bridges over the lake fuse in one smooth sheet of ice, or the verses of a riddle create one answer, the knowledge I had unwittingly gathered for moons coalesced into a single answer. A gathering in the Tü Ly House, Chyne had say. Tre'Kato had been there. And so had House Suen. Suen Ghuozi. In the House of one Kaan Bloodstone, once of the Gods' Rune Islands. And there, Shamans had been talked about.

The truth choked me. I couldn't breathe.I couldn't move.

I had just discovered a conspiracy against the White Prophet.

Against my Dhil'a.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have new, juicy spoilers for Fool's Assassin :D Anybody who is interested contact me in the comments and I shall recount them!


	24. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my beta, Serie11! Many, MANY thanks to have saved me from the pit of unbeta-ness I was slipping in. Thank you!
> 
> So the last chapter of Blue has came! Yes indeed. It is a tiny chapter, but it has its place.  
> Next week we will start the new part, "Red". The last part, too! There will be an epilogue, like White, sort of shortish :)
> 
> Also, after this I plan a sequel, called Threads of Fates. It is likely to be made of episodic one-shot. However. the story arc ends with CoR :D  
> It is a reaction to the unspeakable horror the new book is.
> 
> Thanks as always to Andromeda-Aires, who is an amazing artist and a great person in general. Go see her DA gallery, she makes awesome art! http://andromeda-aries.deviantart.com/  
> She is such a darling! <3  
> And she is making some more fanart of this! *O*

 

 

**_Interlude_ **

 

 

 

_Snow is falling over the city._

_The stark lack of life is less evident under the forgiving white. The colours disappear, the angles and too orderly streets lose  their harsh discontinuity. All looks dead in Winter, and the city weathers it well._

_The snow is thick and immaculate. No tree impedes its passage. No animal mars its perfection with its prints. The White People don't stir in their houses. White as the snow they may be, but Ice is their death. Now, when Winter has closed its barricades around their last bastions, they take refuges inside their room, covered in bright clothes and with warm fires trying to win the siege, for one more year._

_In the biggest of the buildings, a step pyramid of circles, in the lowest and wider one, some of the White People, and one who is not, await._

_They are standing in front of the eggs, propelled over straw and sawdust, not to be in direct contact with the hot stones below.  The room is wide, and the eggs seem pitifully few, lost in the big place made to house tens of times their number. They reach up to the White People's thighs, coloured in all the shades of the rainbow. Like the city. Like the clothes of the people. Swirls and patterns grace  their shells, not unlike the dark gray ones on the face and chest of one of the people, the only one whose skin is not as white as the snow._

_Every face is turned toward one egg. The spiral pattern on this one are cracked all around the tip. A soft sound can be heard from inside. The creaks widen. The snow, unrelenting and indifferent, falls. The sound grows sharper, a soft singing, a chirping more suited for Spring than for this Winter._

_Birth is more suited for Spring, Death is the realm of Winter._

_Time passes, as it does._

_Suddenly, the creaks join all around the tip of the egg. A long pause, while the small creature inside takes its strength back. All the Ieldřyr's faces are calm. Even the one face of the not-Ieldřyr that shares their blood, the gray one that they call not with the name of his kin, but Dhil'a, giving him the name of the relationship that defines his life and his death, is composed._

_But from the shadows, up in the ceiling, among the wooden beams that suspend the ceiling, one who is not Ieldřyr watches, gray-blue eyes, not unlike slates, torn between curiosity and vague disgust.  Flint watches, unseen, from above, as a small, soaked-looking form emerges from the egg. It is white as a worm, with a head full of fine hair-like threads and claws for feet. The human wrinkles his noses. Two Ieldřyr come forth and take the baby. The little creature is making soft, chirping sounds that makes all the present, even the one up the ceiling, smile ._

_The snow falls. The sun, behind the cloud, passes on its endless journey in the sky. Other eggs hatch, their colourful shells carefully scooped up. Other babies come to the waiting arms of their carers. In Flint's slate eyes, disgust is replaced by bewilderment, then wonder, then a quiet, soft look._

_Only when the last egg that should have hatched that day has done so, and the last couple leaves the building, only then Vanyel raises his head toward the ceiling. His eyes search, knowingly. He doesn't ask why Flint has not been at his side. The grown-up child who had lived among the Tribe for years, and had not been seen by the tribesmen, can understand._

_“Did you enjoy it?"_

_Flint jumps down, landing like a cat on feet and hands. He snorts, and straightens up._

_"I did. It was… beautiful. And strange."_

_Vanyel waits. The room is hot, very hot, heath that rises from the ground, to keep the eggs warm. Flint is almost naked, only a leather loincloth covering his loins._ _His shoulder is puckered in a hideous scar that creeps over the neck and eats half of his face. He is strong the way that people who live  on their strength are, with no softness on his lean, hard body. His long air is sleek and blonde, the colour of straw. His features are strong, yet fine where that long-ago fire spared them. His nose is straight, his eyes big and unclouded by brow ridges._

_Flint's blue-gray eyes watches Vanyel's forehead. His hand reaches for it, the callous fingers sweeping the broad, smooth and cool skin. Then he touches his own._

_The human's eyes cloud , like the sky when a cloud passes over the sun, and goes to the door, to stalk out. Vanyel stands, rooted in  place . He is dressed in the colourful, woven garb of his people. Blue trousers and a grey vest, embroidered with silver threads and tingling with precious metals._

_Flint stops on the door. Vanyel watches his Dhil'a‘s back as the muscles contract and ripple . Then the man turns around, slowly, and walks back to Vanyel._

_Flint's eyes are huge in his face. Not as big as Vanyel's, no. But his pupils seem to have eaten away the blue irises. Flint stops less than two feet from the White._

_Vanyel waits. His eyes look unblinkingly  at Flint's._

_The human takes a deep breath, his fingers contracting and relaxing._

_"I am like you. Like them. Not completely. My parents were twins. They had been parted. Then they meet. They did not know. My Mother's Mother had no mate when she came back from a long Travel pregnant… She died giving birth to my parents. My Mother's Father. He was of your people." The words burst out of him, like water from an ice dam at the thawing._

_Vanyel doesn't pretend a surprise he doesn’t feel. He nods. Flint looks at him accusingly._

_"You knew."_

_Again, Vanyel nods._

_Flint’s eyes are slitted, staring at his Dhil’a with a look that was colder than ice._

_"Since when?"_

_Vanyel turns his head, as he has to do to avert his own eyes, and sweeps his gaze over the remaining eggs. Two more Hatchings. So pitifully few._

_"Since always."_

_Flint turns like a storm, walking out in a rush. Vanyel speaks anyway, to his Dhil'a‘s back. His voice sounds clear and pure, like a bell._

_"You are the Future, Dhil'a. Your birth people shall die. My people shall die. Your people shall live, and their children shall inherit the World. If we succeed."_

_This time, Flint does not turn. He stalks out without a word._

_Vanyel is left alone in the warm room. He sighs and spreads his long, graceful hands over the closer egg. His eyes grow cold and still._

_Outside, the snow has stopped, and the wind plays with the snowflakes on the ground, howling its ancient song around the still, colourful buildings._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooooo. I have all the relevant spoilers per Fool's Assassin.  
> It is horrid.  
> Think the worst thing you can think of.  
> Worse than that.
> 
> If anybody wants to know, just comment it and I'll tell you. You deserve warning, believe me.


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